When Looking At Any Significant Work Of

There Is No Substitute For Intuition.

There Is Plenty Of Room Left For Exact Experiment In Art, And The Gate Has Been Opened For Some Time. What Had Been Accomplished In Music By The End Of The Eighteenth Century Has Only Begun In The Fine Arts. Mathematics And Physics Have Given Us A Clue In The Form Of Rules To Be Strictly Observed Or Departed From, As The Case May Be. Here Salutary Discipline Is Come To Grips First Of All With The Function Of Forms, And Not With Form As The Final Result … In This Way We Learn How To Look Beyond The Surface And Get To The Root Of Things.

Every Artist Would Like To Live In The Central Organ Of Creation... Not All Are Destined To Get There... But Our Beating Hearts Drive Us Deep Down, Right Into The Pit Of Creation.

My Self . . . Is A Dramatic Ensemble. Here A Prophetic Ancestor Makes His Appearance. Here A Brutal Hero Shouts. Here An Alcoholic Bon Vivant Argues With A Learned Professor. Here A Lyric Muse, Chronically Love-struck, Raises Her Eyes To Heaven. Her Papa Steps Forward, Uttering Pedantic Protests. Here The Indulgent Uncle Intercedes. Here The Aunt Babbles Gossip. Here The Maid Giggles Lasciviously. And I Look Upon It All With Amazement, The Sharpened Pen In My Left Hand.

Genius Is The Error In The System.