When I had completed building my shanty at the Yenimahalle-┼×entepe district in 1974, I was so overwhelmed with joy that I felt on the top of the world. From now on, both my family and my paintings would have a shelter. I had also designed a relief to go on the garden wall so that the surroundings would be turned into an artistic ground. Thus my shanty, further to being an ordinary shanty, would go on living as the home of Mustafa Ayaz’s art.
I used the basement of the home as my atelier. I painted my best works in that atelier. The years went by. My paintings increased in number. In 2002 I felt the need to have a museum in the contemporary sense, built to my name and I immediately set about it. I achieved something far beyond what I hoped to accomplish and without a single penny of outside help, returning to the public that which I have received. . .
The museum plot was purchased in February 2003 and the construction started in October of that same year. The dram and the joy of the museum under construction along the Ziyabey Street in the Balgat district of Ankara, used to leave me sleepless. I could no longer paint, but kept on drawing plans and making designs for the building. My purpose was not to have a museum building constructed. What I was contemplating was a secure shelter for my works where they could go on existing forever. Thus, my thirty year-long dream came true, reaching from the shanty to a contemporary museum. . .

Not what I have accomplished, but those I intend to accomplish excite me.
My biggest discovery will be finding myself. 
The biggest power that supports an artist is the emotions of fondness and regard.
I paint and draw continually in order to satisfy the sentiments that drill into my heart and bang on my head like a sledgehammer. 
I always lived in between two things: The village and the city, benevolence and sin, void and existence. The basic element of my paintings is this dilemma and these contradictions.
Each one of my paintings is a poem written for the loved ones. 
I impart energy to the paint by biting on my teeth and squeezing the brush to the utmost. 
I paint because I am unable to compose love songs.
A thing that can be taught is not art. 
What matters is not going on display in museums; but to paint something worth displaying at a museum.
I have always run after that exalted feeling- affection- which links the living to life. I have always cherished hope on account of that feeling and tried to capture values unique to myself. I shall continue to experience and maintain love and happiness in my mind.
I cast all my thoughts and affection into painting. Any need for further talk, beyond that? What I would be saying already exist in my paintings.
All those paintings which I have drawn and painted for the sake of love and affection should be assessed not simply as a work of art; but also as an adventure in living.
Just as the silkworm producing its cocoon for the propagation of life, I too, paint for my own contentment. 
There are some who engage in palaver and others who engage in art. Those who engage in palaver go no further than words; where as, those engaging in art become artists.
Give me black paint, lots and lots of it and jet black too, so that I can demonstrate how futile everything is. But a tiny bit of red, a tiny bit of hope is needed and that will persist to stand for my hope so long as I live. Are not they our hopes and longings, by which we cling to life and which make us do worthy things?
I am living for some future happiness, not the present.
I am searching for myself as I keep drawing and painting.
My autobiography is part of the past now; long live the future. . .