Starting To Paint, I Felt Gloriously Free,

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

There's Nothing Clinically Wrong With Me, Only An Emotional Imbalance - I Pass Too Quickly From The Wildest Enthusiasm To The Blackest Despair.

From Bonheur De Vivre - I Was Thirty-five Then - To This Cut-out - I Am Eighty-two - I Have Not Changed; Not In The Way My Friends Mean Who Want To Compliment Me, No Matter What, On My Good Health, But Because All This Time I Have Looked For The Same Things, Which I Have Perhaps Realized By Different Means.

...for Whether We Want To Or Not, We Belong To Our Time And We Share In Its Opinions, Its Feelings, Even Its Delusions.

An Artist Is An Explorer. He Has To Begin By Self-discovery And By Observation Of His Own Procedure. After That He Must Not Feel Under Any Constraint.