The People No Longer Seek Consolation In

Rhythm Is A Perception Of Time... When Drawing, The Tiredness Of The Hand Is A Rhythm.

We Artists Are Indestructible; Even In A Prison, Or In A Concentration Camp, I Would Be Almighty In My Own World Of Art, Even If I Had To Paint My Pictures With My Wet Tongue On The Dusty Floor Of My Cell.

What Is A Face, Really? Its Own Photo? Its Make-up? Or Is It A Face As Painted By Such Or Such Painter? That Which Is In Front? Inside? Behind? And The Rest? Doesn't Everyone Look At Himself In His Own Particular Way? Deformations Simply Do Not Exist.

People Want Art. And They Are Given It. But The Less Art There Is In Painting The More Painting There Is.

There Are Painters Who Transform The Sun To A Yellow Spot, But There Are Others Who With The Help Of Their Art And Their Intelligence, Transform A Yellow Spot Into Sun