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"I have made my art a metabolism. I express myself freely in paint in order to exist. I paint what I want, what I like, what I feel. When I begin to paint I am wrapped in myself, rapt; unaware of chromium cars and décolleté dillentantes, wrapped like a fetus in the womb only aware that each painting for me is either a milestone or a tombstone... I do not unwrap myself when I paint. I unwrap myself when I write. When I press a tube I coil. Every brush stroke makes me recoil like a snake struck with a stick. I hate the smell of paint. Painting for me is not beautiful." (F.N. Souza, F.N. Souza - Words and Lines, New Delhi, 1997, p. 10.)

Souza's words help understand the dynamism of his canvas and the frenzied, animated nature of his brushstrokes, as well as the bright, often clashing colors. His landscapes with their swirling and whirling trees "seem to be driven by some cataclysmic force, which wreaks havoc." (Y. Dalmia, The Making of Modern Indian Art, The Progressives, New Delhi, 2001, p. 93.)