In Order To Make Progress,

The Painter Unfolds That Which Has Not Been Seen.

Perhaps I Was Born Too Early. I Was More The Painter Of Your Generation Than Of Mine.

I Wished To Copy Nature. I Could Not. But I Was Satisfied When I Discovered The Sun, For Instance, Could Not Be Reproduced, But Only Represented By Something Else.

If I Were Called Upon To Define Briefly The Word Art, I Should Call It The Reproduction Of What The Senses Preceive In Nature, Seen Through The Veil Of The Soul.

With A Painter's Temperament, All That's Needed Are The Means Of Expression Sufficient To Be Intelligible To The Wide Public.