With an apple I will astonish Paris.
I have not tried to reproduce nature; I have represented it.
Right now a moment of time is fleeting by! Capture its reality in paint! To do that we must put all else out of our minds. We must become that moment, make ourselves a sensitive recording plate...Give the image of what we actually see, forgetting everything that has been seen before our time.
What I am trying to translate to you is more mysterious, it is entwined in the very roots of being, in the implacable source of sensations.
Nature is the best instructor.
Nature is more depth than surface, the colours are the expressions on the surface of this depth; they rise up from the roots of the world.
May I repeat what I told you here: treat nature by means of the cylinder, the sphere, the cone, everything brought into proper perspective so that each side of an object or a plane is directed towards a central point. Lines parallel to the horizon give breadth... lines perpendicular to this horizon give depth. But nature for us men is more depth than surface, whence the need to introduce into our light vibrations, represented by the reds and yellows, a sufficient amount of blueness to give the feel of air.
If I were called upon to define briefly the word Art, I should call it the reproduction of what the senses preceive in nature, seen through the veil of the soul.
It's so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.
I've come to the conclusion that it's not really possible to help others.
An art which isn't based on feeling isn't an art at all.
Time and reflection change the sight little by little 'till we come to understand.
Fruits ... like having their portrait painted. They seem to sit there and ask your forgiveness for fading. Their thought is given off with their perfumes. They come with all their scents, they speak of the fields they have left, the rain which has nourished them, the daybreaks they have seen.
It's not just about looking and copying, it's about feeling too
When I start thinking, all is lost.
If I think, everything is lost.
Shut your eyes, wait, think of nothing. Now, open them ... one sees nothing but a great coloured undulation. What then? An irradiation and glory of colour. This is what a picture should give us ... an abyss in which the eye is lost, a secret germination, a coloured state of grace ... loose conciousness. Descend with the painter into the dim tangled roots of things, and rise again from them in colours, be steeped in the light of them.
Under this fine rain I breathe in the innocence of the world. I feel coloured by the nuances of infinity. At this moment I am one with my picture. We are an iridescent chaos.
Pleasure must be found in study.
There are two things in the painter, the eye and the mind; each of them should aid the other.
Shadow is a colour as light is, but less brilliant; light and shadow are only the relation of two tones.
For an Impressionist to paint from nature is not to paint the subject, but to realize sensations.
Keep good company - that is, go to the Louvre.
I have to keep working, not to arrive at finish, which arouses the admiration of fools... I must seek completion only for the pleasure of being truer and more knowing.
The landscape becomes human, becomes a thinking, living being within me. I become one with my picture...we merge in an iridescent chaos.
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