With Color One Obtains An Energy That

The Things That Are Acquired Consciously Permit Us To Express Ourselves Unconsciously With A Certain Richness.

Hatred, Rancor, And The Spirit Of Vengeance Are Useless Baggage To The Artist. His Road Is Difficult Enough For Him To Cleanse His Soul Of Everything Which Could Make It More So.

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.

I Don't Paint Women, I Paint Pictures. . . What I Am After Above All Is Expression. If In A Portrait I Put Eyes, A Nose, A Mouth, There Isn't Much Use; On The Contrary It Paralyses The Imagination Of The Spectator, And Obliges Us To See The Person In A Certain Way.

I Have Been No More Than A Medium, As It Were.