If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, colour it with our colours of love and hope.
Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things that revolve around love.
Despite all the troubles of our world, in my heart I have never given up on the love in which I was brought up or on man's hope in love. In life, just as on the artist's palette, there is but one single colour that gives meaning to life and art–the colour of love
Great art picks up where nature ends.
Color is all. When color is right, form is right. Color is everything, color is vibration like music; everything is vibration.
If I create from the heart, nearly everything works; if from the head, almost nothing.
If I create with my heart almost all my intentions remain. If it is with the head - almost nothing. An artist must not fear to be himself, to express only himself. If he is absolutely and entirely sincere, what he says and does will be acceptable to others.
I am a little Jew of Vitebsk. All that I paint, all that I do, all that I am, is just the little Jew of Vitebsk.
The stars were my best friends. The air was full of legends and phantoms, full of mythical and fairy tale creatures, which suddenly flew away over the roof, so that one was at one with the firmament.
You could wonder for hours what flowers mean, but for me, they're life itself, in all its happy brilliance. We couldn't do with out flowers. Flowers help you forget life's tragedies.
All our interior world is reality, and that, perhaps, more so than our apparent world.
My name is Marc, my emotional life is sensitive and my purse is empty, but they say I have talent.
Work isn't to make money; you work to justify life.
The habit of ignoring Nature is deeply implanted in our times. This attitude reminds me of people who never look you in the eye; I find them disturbing and always have to look away.
Art must be an expression of love or it is nothing.
All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites.
Time is a river without banks.
You cannot explain me with "isms." They are very bad for an artist. What one must believe in is color.
I adore the theater and I am a painter. I think the two are made for a marriage of love. I will give all my soul to prove this once more.
When I am finishing a picture, I hold some God-made object up to it - a rock, a flower, the branch of a tree or my hand - as a final test. If the painting stands up beside a thing man cannot make, the painting is authentic. If there's a clash between the two, it's bad art.
What I mean by 'abstract' is something which comes to life spontaneously through a gamut of contrasts, plastic at the same time as psychic, and pervades both the picture and the eye of the spectator with conceptions of new and unfamiliar elements.
The dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world. In this long vigil he often has to vary his methods of stimulation; but in this long vigil he is also himself striving against a continual tendency to sleep.
In the arts, as in life, everything is possible provided it is based on love.
Love and fantasy, go hand in hand.
Will God or someone give me the power to breathe my sigh into my canvases, the sigh of prayer and sadness, the prayer of salvation, of rebirth?
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