Art Does Not Reflect What Is Seen,

Frightened, I Jump Up From The Bank, The Struggle Begins Anew. Bitterness Has Returned. I Am Not Pan In The Reed, I Am Merely A Human Being And Want To Climb A Few Steps, But Really Climb Them.

My Hand Is Entirely The Implement Of A Distant Sphere. It Is Not My Head That Functions But Something Else, Something Higher, Something Somewhere Remote. I Must Have Great Friends There, Dark As Well As Bright. They Are All Very Kind To Me.

It Is A Great Difficulty And A Great Necessity To Have To Start With The Smallest.

One Eye Sees, The Other Feels.

Nature Is Garrulous To The Point Of Confusion, Let The Artist Be Truly Taciturn.