I Do Not Believe In The Art

What Is Art? Art Grows From Joy And Sorrow, But Mostly From Sorrow. It Grows From Human Lives.

My Fear Of Life Is Necessary To Me, As Is My Illness. Without Anxiety And Illness, I Am A Ship Without A Rudder. My Art Is Grounded In Reflections Over Being Different From Others. My Sufferings Are Part Of My Self And My Art. They Are Indistinguishable From Me, And Their Destruction Would Destroy My Art. I Want To Keep Those Sufferings

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

Through My Art I Have Tried To Explain My Life And Its Meaning. I Have Also Intended To Help Others To Clarify Their Lives.

It Would Be Quite Amusing To Preach A Bit To All Those People Who For Many Years Now Have Been Looking At Our Paintings And Either Laughed Or Shook Their Heads Reproachfully. They Do Not Believe That These Impressions, These Instant Sensations, Could Contain Even The Smallest Grain Of Sanity. If A Tree Is Red Or Blue, Or A Face Is Blue Or Green, They Are Sure That Is Insanity.