They Are Not Men, They Are Not

The People No Longer Seek Consolation In Art. But The Refined People, The Rich, The Idlers Seek The New, The Extraordinary, The Extravagant, The Scandalous.

It Is Not What An Artist Does That Counts...but What He Is.

Enough Of Art. It's Art That Kills Us. People No Longer Want To Do Painting: They Make Art.

It's Not What The Artist Does That Counts; It's What He Is.

Everyone Wants To Understand Art. Why Not Try To Understand The Song Of A Bird? Why Does One Love The Night, Flowers, Everything Around One, Without Trying To Understand Them? But In The Case Of A Painting People Have To Understand. If Only They Would Realize Above All That An Artist Works Of Necessity, That He Himself Is Only A Trifling Bit Of The World, And That No More Importance Should Be Attached To Him Than To Plenty Of Other Things Which Please Us In The World, Though We Can't Explain Them. People Who Try To Explain Pictures Are Usually Barking Up The Wrong Tree.