I Still Come Closest To

Nature Can Afford To Be Prodigal In Everything, The Artist Must Be Frugal Down To The Last Detail. Nature Is Garrulous To The Point Of Confusion, Let The Artist Be Truly Taciturn.

My Mirror Probes Down To The Heart. I Write Words On The Forehead And Around The Corners Of The Mouth. My Human Faces Are Truer Than The Real Ones.

Everything Passes, And What Remains Of Former Times, What Remains Of Life, Is The Spiritual. In Everything We Do, The Claim Of The Absolute Is Unchanging.

One Does Not Lash Hat Lies At A Distance. The Foibles That We Ridicule Must At Least Be A Little Bit Our Own. Only Then Will The Work Be A Part Of Our Own Flesh. The Garden Must Be Weeded.

Color And I Are One. I Am A Painter.