One Cannot Be A Sorcerer All The

To Me There Is No Past Or Future In Art. If A Work Of Art Does Not Live In The Present, It Must Not Be Considered At All.

But When I Am Alone, I Do Not Have The Effrontery To Consider Myself An Artist At All, Not In The Grand Old Meaning Of The Word: Giotto, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya Were Great Painters. I Am Only A Public Clown-a Mountebank. I Have Understood My Time And Have Exploited The Imbecility, The Vanity, The Greed Of My Contemporaries. It Is A Bitter Confession, This Confession Of Mine, More Painful Than It May Seem. But At Least And At Last It Does Have The Merit Of Being Honest.

We Artists Are Indestructible; Even In A Prison, Or In A Concentration Camp, I Would Be Almighty In My Own World Of Art, Even If I Had To Paint My Pictures With My Wet Tongue On The Dusty Floor Of My Cell.

Whatever Is Most Abstract May Perhaps Be The Summit Of Reality.

Why Do You Try To Understand Art? Do You Try To Understand The Song Of A Bird?