Each Brushstroke Is A Decision.

If One Were To Ask A Painter What He Felt About Anything, His Just Response - Though He Seldom Makes It - Would Be To Paint It, And In Painting, To Find Out.

In The End I Realize That Whatever Meaning That Picture Has Is The Accumulated Meaning Of Ten Thousand Brushstrokes, Each One Being Decided As It Was Painted.

In The Brush Doing What It Is Doing, It Will Stumble On What One Could Not Do By Oneself.

I Dislike A Picture That Is Too Suave Or Too Skilfully Done. But, Contrariwise, I Also Dislike A Picture That Looks Too Inept Or Blundering.

Art Is Much Less Important Than Life, But What A Poor Life Without It.