Nothing So Resembles A Daub

Night Is Here. All Is At Rest. My Eyes Close In Order To See Without Actually Understanding The Dream That Flees Before Men Infinite Space; And I Experience The Languorous Sensation Produced By The Mournful Procession Of My Hopes.

In Art There Are Only Two Types Of People: Revolutionaries And Plagiarists

Art = A Mad Search For Individualism.

A Nude By Degas Is Chaste. But His Women Wash In Tubs!

Why Did I Hesitate To Put All This Glory Of The Sun On My Canvas?