A Critic In My House

The Missionary Is No Longer A Man, A Conscience. He Is A Corpse, In The Hands Of A Confraternity, Without Family, Without Love, Without Any Of The Sentiments That Are Dear To Us. Emasculated, In A Sense, By His Vow Of Chastity, He Offers Us The Distressing Spectacle Of A Man Deformed And Impotent Or Engaged In A Stupid And Useless Struggle With The Sacred Needs Of The Flesh, A Struggle Which, Seven Times Out Of Ten, Leads Him To Sodomy, The Gallows, Or Prison.

A Hint - Don't Paint Too Much Direct From Nature. Art Is An Abstraction! Study Nature Then Brood On It And Treasure The Creation Which Will Result, Which Is The Only Way To Ascend Towards God - To Create Like Our Divine Master.

Lacking Many Of The Essential Implements, It Irritated Me To Be Reduced To Impotence In The Face Of Artistic Projects To Which I Had Passionately Given Myself.

Follow The Masters! But Why Should One Follow Them? The Only Reason They Are Masters Is That They Didn't Follow Anybody!

Today One Can Dare Anything, And, Furthermore, Nobody Is Surprised.