Art Does Not Reflect What Is Seen,

I Want To Be As Though New-born, Knowing Nothing, Absolutely Nothing About Europe.

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.

Sometimes I Dream Of A Work Of Really Great Breadth, Ranging Through The Whole Region Of Object, Meaning, And Style. This, I Fear, Will Remain A Dream, But It Is A Good Thing To Bear The Possibility Occasionally In Mind.

It Is Possible That A Picture Will Move Far Away From Nature And Yet Find Its Way Back To Reality. The Faculty Of Memory, Experience At A Distance Produces Pictorial Associations.

My Mirror Probes Down To The Heart. I Write Words On The Forehead And Around The Corners Of The Mouth. My Human Faces Are Truer Than The Real Ones.