The Painter Unfolds That Which Has Not

Everything Vanishes, Falls Apart, Doesn't It? Nature Is Always The Same But Nothing In Her That Appears To Us Lasts. Our Art Must Render The Thrill Of Her Permanence, Along With Her Elements, The Appearance Of All Her Changes. It Must Give Us A Taste Of Her Eternity.

Monet Is Only An Eye, But My God, What An Eye!

The Contour Eludes Me.

Perhaps I Was Born Too Early. I Was More The Painter Of Your Generation Than Of Mine.

I Have Nothing To Hide In Art. The Initial Force Alone Can Bring Anyone To The End He Must Attain.