You Adapt Yourself To The Contents Of

The Pictorial Work Was Born Of Movement, Is Itself Recorded Movement, And Is Assimilated Through Movement (eye Muscles).

What My Art Probably Lacks Is A Kind Of Passionate Humanity... There Is No Sensuous Relationship, Not Even The Noblest, Between Myself And The Many.

It Is Precisely The Way Which Is Productive - This Is The Essential Thing; Becoming Is More Important Than Being.

My Self . . . Is A Dramatic Ensemble. Here A Prophetic Ancestor Makes His Appearance. Here A Brutal Hero Shouts. Here An Alcoholic Bon Vivant Argues With A Learned Professor. Here A Lyric Muse, Chronically Love-struck, Raises Her Eyes To Heaven. Her Papa Steps Forward, Uttering Pedantic Protests. Here The Indulgent Uncle Intercedes. Here The Aunt Babbles Gossip. Here The Maid Giggles Lasciviously. And I Look Upon It All With Amazement, The Sharpened Pen In My Left Hand.

See With One Eye, Feel With The Other.