A Work Of Art Comes Only From

I Painted The Picture, And In The Colors The Rhythm Of The Music Quivers. I Painted The Colors I Saw.

Any Number Of Holier-than-thou Honorable Realists Walk Around In The Belief That They Have Accomplished Something, Simply Because They Tell You For The Hundredth Time That A Field Is Green And A Red-painted House Is Painted Red.

Photography Is An Art Which Touches And Grips One's Own Heart's Blood.

I Build A Kind Of Wall Between Myself And T He Model So That I Can Paint In Peace Behind It. Otherwise, She Might Say Something That Confuses And Distracts Me.

I Felt As If There Were Invisible Threads Connecting Us - I Felt The Invisible Strands Of Her Hair Still Winding Around Me - And Thus As She Disappeared Completely Beyond The Sea - I Still Felt It, Felt The Pain Where My Heart Was Bleeding - Because The Threads Could Not Be Severed.