But Can They [great Works] Get Rid

Photography Is An Art Which Touches And Grips One's Own Heart's Blood.

But Can They [great Works] Get Rid Of The Worm That Lies Gnawing At The Roots Of My Heart? No, Never.

I Do Not Believe In The Art Which Is Not The Compulsive Result Of Man's Urge To Open His Heart

I Was Walking Down The Road With Two Friends When The Sun Set; Suddenly, The Sky Turned As Red As Blood. I Stopped And Leaned Against The Fence, Feeling Unspeakably Tired. Tongues Of Fire And Blood Stretched Over The Bluish Black Fjord. My Friends Went On Walking, While I Lagged Behind, Shivering With Fear. Then I Heard The Enormous Infinite Scream Of Nature.

I Painted The Picture, And In The Colors The Rhythm Of The Music Quivers. I Painted The Colors I Saw.