Like People, A Picture Has A Skeleton,

He Neither Serves Nor Rules, He Transmits. His Position Is Humble And The Beauty At The Crown Is Not His Own. He Is Merely A Channel.

The More Horrible This World (as Today, For Instance), The More Abstract Our Art, Whereas A Happy World Brings Forth An Art Of The Here And Now.

Beauty Is As Relative As Light And Dark. Thus, There Exists No Beautiful Woman, None At All, Because You Are Never Certain That A Still Far More Beautiful Woman Will Not Appear And Completely Shame The Supposed Beauty Of The First.

By Using Patches Of Color And Tone It Is Possible To Capture Every Natural Impression In The Simplest Way, Freshly And Immediately.

I Have A Clear View Of 12 Years Of History Of My Inner Self. First The Cramped Self, That Self With Big Blinkers, Then The Disappearance Of The Blinkers And The Self, Now Gradually The Reemergence Of A Self Without Blinkers.