For Me, There Are Two Kinds Of

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.

To Know What You're Going To Draw, You Have To Begin Drawing.

You Can Go To The Moon Or Walk Under The Sea, Or Anything Else You Like, But Painting Remains Painting Because It Eludes Such Investigation. It Remains There Like A Question. And It Alone Gives The Answer.

Age Only Matters When One Is Aging. Now That I Have Arrived At A Great Age, I Might As Well Be Twenty.

Disciples Be Damned. It's Not Interesting. It's Only The Masters That Matter. Those Who Create.