Silence! I Am Learning To Know The

And Here In My Isolation I Can Grow Stronger. Poetry Seems To Come Of Itself, Without Effort, And I Need Only Let Myself Dream A Little While Painting To Suggest It.

Thanks To Our Cinctures And Corsets We Have Succeeded In Making An Artificial Being Out Of Woman. She Is An Anomaly, And Nature Herself, Obedient To The Laws Of Heredity, Aids Us In Complicating And Enervating Her. We Carefully Keep Her In A State Of Nervous Weakness And Muscular Inferiority, And In Guarding Her From Fatigue, We Take Away From Her Possibilities Of Development. Thus Modeled On A Bizarre Ideal Of Slenderness To Which, Strangely Enough, We Continue To Adhere, Our Women Have Nothing In Common With Us, And This, Perhaps, May Not Be Without Grave Moral And Social Disadvantages.

What Still Concerns Me The Most Is: Am I On The Right Track, Am I Making Progress, Am I Making Mistakes In Art?

A Time Will Come When People Will Think I Am A Myth, Or Rather Something The Newspapers Have Made Up.

In Painting One Must Search Rather For Suggestion Than For Description, As Is Done In Music.