A Painter Paints To Unload Himself Of

All Human Beings Are Born With The Same Creative Potential. Most People Squander Theirs Away On A Million Superfluous Things. I Expend Mine On One Thing And One Thing Only: My Art.

But When I Am Alone, I Do Not Have The Effrontery To Consider Myself An Artist At All, Not In The Grand Old Meaning Of The Word: Giotto, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya Were Great Painters. I Am Only A Public Clown-a Mountebank. I Have Understood My Time And Have Exploited The Imbecility, The Vanity, The Greed Of My Contemporaries. It Is A Bitter Confession, This Confession Of Mine, More Painful Than It May Seem. But At Least And At Last It Does Have The Merit Of Being Honest.

Photography Has Arrived At The Point Where It Is Capable Of Liberating Painting From All Literature, From The Anecdote, And Even From The Subject. In Any Case, A Certain Aspect Of The Subject Now Belongs To The Domain Of Photography. So Shouldn't Painters Profit From Their Newly Acquired Liberty, And Make Use Of It To Do Other Things?

It Is Personality With A Penny's Worth Of Talent. Error Which Chances To Rise Above The Commonplace.

If I Don't Have Red, I Use Blue.