Exactitude Is Not Truth.

Instinct Must Be Thwarted Just As One Prunes The Branches Of A Tree So That It Will Grow Better.

What I Dream Of Is An Art Of Balance.

The Splitting Up Of Color [as Impressionists Did] Brought The Splitting Up Of Form And Contour . . . Everything Is Reduced To A Mere Sensation Of The Retina, But One Which Destroys All Tranquility Of Surface And Contour. Objects Are Differentiated Only By The Luminosity That Is Given Them.

The Role Of The Artist, Like That Of The Scholar, Consists Of Seizing Current Truths Often Repeated To Him, But Which Will Take On New Meaning For Him And Which He Will Make His Own When He Has Grasped Their Deepest Significance.

When A Painting Is Finished, It's Like A New Born Child, And The Artist Himself Must Have Time For Understanding. How Then Do You Expect An Amateur To Understand That Which The Artist Dos Not Yet Comprehend.