Nature Is A Mere Pretext For A

Out Of Limitations, New Forms Emerge

Poetry Is To A Painting What Life Is To Man.

Once An Object Has Been Incorporated In A Picture It Accepts A New Destiny.

A Painting Without Something Disturbing In It – What's That?.

I Have Made A Great Discovery. I No Longer Believe In Anything. Objects Don't Exist For Me Except In So Far As A Rapport Exists Between Them And Myself. When One Attains This Harmony, One Reaches A Sort Of Intellectual Non-existence, What I Can Only Describe As A Sense Of Peace, Which Makes Everything Possible And Right. Life Then Becomes A Perpetual Revelation. That Is True Poetry.