Art Is The Lie That Enables Us

We Might Adapt For The Artist The Joke About There Being Nothing More Dangerous Than Instruments Of War In The Hands Of Generals. In The Same Way, There Is Nothing More Dangerous Than Justice In The Hands Of Judges, And A Paint Brush In The Hands Of A Painter! Just Think Of The Danger To Society! But Today We Haven't The Heart To Expel The Painters And Poets Because We No Longer Admit To Ourselves That There Is Any Danger In Keeping Them In Our Midst.

Painting Isn't A Question Of Sensibility; It's A Matter Of Seizing The Power, Taking Over From Nature, Not Expecting Her To Supply You With Information And Good Advice.

Love Must Be Proven By Facts And Not By Reasons.

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.

Each Time I Undertake To Paint A Picture I Have A Sensation Of Leaping Into Space. I Never Know Whether I Shall Fall On My Feet. It Is Only Later That I Begin To Estimate More Exactly The The Effect Of My Work.