If I Think, I Am

I Ask You To Pray For Me, For Once Age Has Overtaken Us, We Find Consolation Only In Religion.

If Isolation Tempers The Strong, It Is The Stumbling-block Of The Uncertain.

There Is A Logic Of Colors, And It Is With This Alone, And Not With The Logic Of The Brain, That The Painter Should Conform.

The Landscape Becomes Human, Becomes A Thinking, Living Being Within Me. I Become One With My Picture...we Merge In An Iridescent Chaos.

To Paint Is Not To Copy The Object Slavishly, It Is To Grasp A Harmony Among Many Relationships.