If It's Good, It's Mine. If It's

If You Can Imagine It...it Is Real

It Is My Misfortune - And Probably My Delight - To Use Things As My Passions Tell Me. What A Miserable Fate For A Painter Who Adores Blondes To Have To Stop Himself Putting Them Into A Picture Because They Don't Go With The Basket Of Fruit! . . . I Put All The Things I Like Into My Pictures. The Things - So Much The Worse For Them. They Just Have To Put Up With It.

The Artist Spends The First Part Of His Life With The Dead, The Second With The Living, And The Third With Himself.

Today We Haven't The Heart To Expel The Painters And Poets From Society Because We Refuse To Admit To Ourselves That There Is Any Danger In Keeping Them In Our Midst.

The Artist Is A Receptacle For Emotions That Come From All Over The Place: From The Sky, From The Earth, From A Scrap Of Paper, From A Passing Shape, From A Spider's Web.