Oh I Do Want That Thing, That

I Think That One's Art Is A Growth Inside One. I Do Not Think One Can Explain Growth. It Is Silent And Subtle. One Does Not Keep Digging Up A Plant To See How It Grows.

There Is No Right And Wrong Way To Paint Except Honestly Or Dishonestly. Honestly Is Trying For The Bigger Thing. Dishonestly Is Bluffing And Getting Through A Smattering Of Surface Representation With No Meaning.

Indians Do Not Hinder The Progress Of Their Dead By Embalming Or Tight Coffining. When The Spirit Has Gone They Give The Body Back To The Earth. The Earth Welcomes The Body-coaxes New Life And Beauty From It, Hurries Over What Men Shudder At. Lovely Tender Herbage Bursts From The Graves, Swiftly, Exulting Over Corruption.

I Am Always Watching For Fear Of Getting Feeble And Passé In My Work. I Don't Want To Trickle Out. I Want To Pour Till The Pail Is Empty, The Last Bit Going Out In A Gush, Not In Drops.

Art Is An Aspect Of God And There Is Only One God, But Different People See Him In Different Ways. Though He Is Always The Same He Doesn't Always Look The Same.