In Their Field They [mathematicians]

Layer By Layer Art Strips Life Bare.

The Thought Came To Me That All One Loves In Art Becomes Beautiful. Beauty Is Nothing But The Expression Of The Fact That Something Is Being Loved. Only Thus Could She Be Defined.

All Still Lifes Are Actually Paintings Of The World On The Sixth Day Of Creation, When God And The World Were Alone Together, Without Man!

What Is Perceptible To One’s Mistrust Is The Cut-and-dried Way That Life Is Divided Up And The Ready-made Form It Assumes, The Ever-recurring Sameness Of It, The Pre-formations Passed Down By Generation After Generation, The Ready-made Language Not Only Of The Tongue But Also Of The Sensations And The Feelings.

Progress Would Be Wonderful - If Only It Would Stop.