I Have Nothing To Hide In Art.

The Approbation Of Others Is A Stimulus Of Which One Must Sometimes Be Wary. The Feeling Of One's Own Strength Makes One Modest.

The Sun Penetrates Me Soundlessly Like A Distant Friend That Stirs Up My Laziness, Fertilizes It. We Bring Forth Life.

May I Repeat What I Told You Here: Treat Nature By Means Of The Cylinder, The Sphere, The Cone, Everything Brought Into Proper Perspective So That Each Side Of An Object Or A Plane Is Directed Towards A Central Point. Lines Parallel To The Horizon Give Breadth... Lines Perpendicular To This Horizon Give Depth. But Nature For Us Men Is More Depth Than Surface, Whence The Need To Introduce Into Our Light Vibrations, Represented By The Reds And Yellows, A Sufficient Amount Of Blueness To Give The Feel Of Air.

The Landscape Thinks Itself In Me And I Am Its Consciousness.

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.