Vienne La Nuit Sonne L'heure Les Jours

I Hate Artists Who Are Not Of Their Time.

Color Is The Fruit Of Life.

How Slow Life Is, How Violent Hope Is.

The New Painters Do Not Propose, Any More Than Did Their Predecessors, To Be Geometers. But It May Be Said That Geometry Is To The Plastic Arts What Grammar Is To The Art Of The Writer. Today, Scholars No Longer Limit Themselves To The Three Dimensions Of Euclid. The Painters Have Been Lead Quite Naturally, One Might Say By Intuition, To Preoccupy Themselves With The New Possibilities Of Spatial Measurement Which, In The Language Of The Modern Studios, Are Designated By The Term Fourth Dimension.

It's Raining My Soul, It's Raining, But It's Raining Dead Eyes.