Colors, Like Features, Follow The Changes Of

I Want To Get To The Stage Where Nobody Can Tell How A Picture Of Mine Is Done. What's The Point Of That? Simply That I Want Nothing But Emotion Given Off By It.

When I Die, It Will Be A Shipwreck, And As When A Huge Ship Sinks, Many People All Around Will Be Sucked Down With It.

The Goal I Proposed Myself In Making Cubism? To Paint And Nothing More... With A Method Linked Only To My Thought... Neither The Good Nor The True; Neither The Useful Nor The Useless.

For Me Painting Is A Dramatic Action In The Course Of Which Reality Finds Itself Split Apart

It Means Nothing To Me. I Have No Opinion About It, And I Don't Care.