One Of My Problems Is To Find

We Will Enjoy Ourselves With The Forms That Are Given Us: A Human Face, A Hand, The Breast Of A Woman Or The Body Of A Man, A Glad Or Sorrowful Expression, The Infinite Seas, The Wild Rocks, The Melancholy Language Of The Black Trees In The Snow, The Wild Strength Of Spring Flowers And The Heavy Lethargy Of A Hot Summer Day When Pan, Our Old Friend, Sleeps And The Ghosts Of Midday Whisper. This Alone Is Enough To Make Us Forget The Grief Of The World, Or To Give It Form.

One Of My Problems Is To Find The Ego, Which Has Only One Form And Is Immortal - To Find It In Animals And Men, In The Heaven And In The Hell Which Together Form The World In Which We Live.

Love In An Animal Sense Is An Illness, But A Necessity Which One Has To Overcome.

The Stronger And More Intense My Desire Becomes To Capture And Record That Which Is Unsayable, The More Tightly My Mouth Stays Shut.

When Spiritual, Metaphysical, Material, Or Immaterial Events Come Into My Life, I Can Only Fix Them By Way Of Painting.