There Is A Battle That Goes On

To Die Is As If One's Eyes Had Been Put Out And One Cannot See Anything Any More. Perhaps It Is Like Being Shut In A Cellar. One Is Abandoned By All. They Have Slammed The Door And Are Gone. One Does Not See Anything And Notices Only The Damp Smell Of Putrefaction.

I Have No Fear Of Photography As Long As It Cannot Be Used In Heaven And In Hell.

I Should Have Considered It Wrong To Have Finished The Frieze Before The Room For Its Accommodation And The Funds For Its Completion Were Available.

Some Colors Reconcile Themselves To One Another, Others Just Clash.

By Painting Colors And Lines And Forms Seen In Quickened Mood I Was Seeking To Make This Mood Vibrate As A Phonograph Does. This Was The Origin Of The Paintings In The Frieze Of Life.