A Drawing Is Simply A Line Going

The Painter Should Not Paint What He Sees, But What Will Be Seen.

A Certain Fire Pretends To Be Alive; It Awakens. Working Its Way Along The Hand As A Conductor, It Reaches The Support And Engulfs It; Then A Leaping Spark Closes The Circle It Was To Trace, Coming Back To The Eye And Beyond.

He Neither Serves Nor Rules, He Transmits. His Position Is Humble And The Beauty At The Crown Is Not His Own. He Is Merely A Channel.

The Longer A Line, The More Of The Time Element It Contains. Distance Is Time Whereas A Surface Is Apprehended More In Terms Of The Moment.

Everything Vanishes Round Me And Good Works Rise From Me Of Their Own Accord.