Like People, A Picture Has A Skeleton,

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.

To Give Emphasis Only To Beauty Makes Me Think Of A Mathematics That Deals With Positive Numbers Only.

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

Everything Vanishes Round Me And Good Works Rise From Me Of Their Own Accord.

I Have A Clear View Of 12 Years Of History Of My Inner Self. First The Cramped Self, That Self With Big Blinkers, Then The Disappearance Of The Blinkers And The Self, Now Gradually The Reemergence Of A Self Without Blinkers.