I Don't Admit That A Woman Draws

Daylight Is Too Easy. What I Want Is Difficult - The Atmosphere Of Lamps And Moonlight.

I Have Been, Or Seemed, Hard With Everyone Because I Was Carried Away By A Sort Of Brutality Born Of My Distrust In Myself And My Ill-humor. I Have Felt So Badly Equipped, So Soft, In Spite Of The Fact That My Attitude Towards Art Seemed To Me So Just. I Was Disgusted With Everyone, And Especially Myself.

And Even This Heart Of Mine Has Something Artificial. The Dancers Have Sewn It Into A Bag Of Pink Satin, Pink Satin Slightly Faded, Like Their Dancing Shoes.

People Call Me The Painter Of Dancers, But I Really Wish To Capture Movement Itself.

Make A Drawing. Start It All Over Again, Trace It. Start It And Trace It Again.