One Always Has To Spoil A Picture

The Outcome Of My Days Is Always The Same; An Infinite Desire For What One Never Gets; A Void One Cannot Fill; An Utter Yearning To Produce In All Ways, To Battle As Much As Possible Against Time That Drags Us Along, And The Distractions That Throw A Veil Over Our Soul.

Cold Exactitude Is Not Art... The So-called Consciousness Of The Majority Of Painters Is Only Perfection Applied To The Art Of Boring. People Like That, If They Could, Would Work With The Same Minute Attention On The Back Of Their Canvas.

One Must Learn To Be Grateful For One's Own Findings.

Draughtsmen May Be Made, But Colourists Are Born.

Nourish Yourself With Grand And Austere Ideas Of Beauty That Feed The Soul Seek Solitude.