My Mirror Probes Down To The Heart.

Like People, A Picture Has A Skeleton, Muscles And Skin.

The Artist Of Today Is More Than An Improved Camera, He Is More Complex, Richer, And Wider. He Is A Creature On The Earth And A Creature Within The Whole, That Is, A Creature On A Star Among Stars.

The Beautiful, Which Is Perhaps Inseparable From Art, Is Not After All Tied To The Subject, But To The Pictorial Representation. In This Way And In No Other Does Art Overcome The Ugly Without Avoiding It.

I Want To Be As Though New-born, Knowing Nothing, Absolutely Nothing. Then I Want To Do Something Modest; To Work Out By Myself A Tiny, Formal Motive, One That My Pencil Will Be Able To Hold Without Technique.

Frightened, I Jump Up From The Bank, The Struggle Begins Anew. Bitterness Has Returned. I Am Not Pan In The Reed, I Am Merely A Human Being And Want To Climb A Few Steps, But Really Climb Them.