It Is Really A Matter Of Ending

Art To Me Is An Anecdote Of The Spirit.

It Is The Poet And Philosopher Who Provide The Community Of Objectives In Which The Artist Participates. Their Chief Preoccupation, Like The Artist, Is The Expression In Concrete Form Of Their Notions Of Reality. Like Him, They Deal With The Verities Of Time And Space, Life And Death, And The Heights Of Exaltation As Well As The Depths Of Despair. The Preoccupation With These Eternal Problems Creates A Common Ground Which Transcends The Disparity In The Means Used To Achieve Them.

A Painting Is Not A Picture Of An Experience, But Is The Experience.

A Picture Lives By Companionship, Expanding And Quickening In The Eyes Of The Sensitive Observer. It Dies By The Same Token. It Is Therefore Risky To Send It Out Into The World. How Often It Must Be Impaired By The Eyes Of The Unfeeling And The Cruelty Of The Impotent.

Look, It's My Misery That I Have To Paint This Kind Of Painting, It's Your Misery That You Have To Love It, And The Price Of The Misery Is Thirteen Hundred And Fifty Dollars.