Some Colors Reconcile Themselves To One Another,

Photography Is An Art Which Touches And Grips One's Own Heart's Blood.

What Is Art? Art Grows From Joy And Sorrow, But Mostly From Sorrow. It Grows From Human Lives.

I Was Walking Along The Road With Two Friends. The Sun Set. I Felt A Tinge Of Melancholy. Suddenly The Sky Became A Bloody Red... I Stood There, Trembling With Fright. And I Felt A Loud, Unending Scream Piercing Nature.

My Father Was Temperamentally Nervous And Obsessively Religious—to The Point Of Psychoneurosis. From Him I Inherited The Seeds Of Madness. The Angels Of Fear, Sorrow, And Death Stood By My Side Since The Day I Was Born.

It Was Always My Intention That The Frieze Should Be Housed In A Room Which Would Provide A Suitable Architectural Frame For It.