I Still Come Closest To Success With

My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.

All Art Is A Memory Of Age-old Things, Dark Things, Whose Fragments Live On In The Artist.

It Is Interesting To Observe How Real The Object Remains, In Spite Of All Abstractions.

Art Doesn't Reflect What We See; It Makes Us See.

Nature Can Afford To Be Prodigal In Everything, The Artist Must Be Frugal Down To The Last Detail. Nature Is Garrulous To The Point Of Confusion, Let The Artist Be Truly Taciturn.