I Was Poking Fun At Myself Most

Possible Reality [is Obtained] By Slightly Bending Physical And Chemical Laws.

Society Takes What It Wants. The Artist Himself Does Not Count, Because There Is No Actual Existence For The Work Of Art. The Work Of Art Is Always Based On The Two Poles Of The Onlooker And The Maker, And The Spark That Comes From The Bipolar Action Gives Birth To Something - Like Electricity. But The Onlooker Has The Last Word, And It Is Always Posterity That Makes The Masterpiece. The Artist Should Not Concern Himself With This, Because It Has Nothing To Do With Him.

I Was Poking Fun At Myself Most Of All.

Aesthetic Delectation Is The Danger To Be Avoided.

In New York In 1915 I Bought At A Hardware Store A Snow Shovel On Which I Wrote In Advance Of The Broken Arm .