A Drawing Is Simply A Line Going

From The Root, The Sap Rises Up Into The Artist, Flows Through Him, Flows To His Eye. Overwhelmed And Activated By The Force Of The Current, He Conveys His Vision Into His Work. And Yet, Standing At His Appointed Place As The Trunk Of The Tree, He Does Nothing Other Than Gather And Pass On What Rises From The Depths. He Neither Serves Nor Commands He Transmits. His Position Is Humble. And The Beauty At The Crown Is Not His Own; It Has Merely Passed Through Him.

The More Horrible This World (as Today, For Instance), The More Abstract Our Art, Whereas A Happy World Brings Forth An Art Of The Here And Now.

We Document, Explain, Justify, Construct, Organize: These Are Good Things, But We Do Not Succeed In Coming To The Whole. But We May As Well Calm Down: Construction Is Not Absolute. Our Virtue Is This: By Cultivating The Exact We Have Laid The Foundations For A Science Of Art, Including The Unknown X.

There Is No Substitute For Intuition.

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