Colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas.
My breakthrough came very late in life, really only starting when I was 50...I had the strength for new deeds and ideas.
The camera will never compete with the brush and the palette, until such time as photographs can be taken in Heaven or Hell.
Without anxiety and illness I would have been like a ship without a rudder.
When I paint, I never think of selling. People simply fail to understand that we paint in order to experiment and to develop ourselves as we strive for greater heights.
Painting picture by picture, I followed the impressions my eye took in at heightened moments. I painted only memories, adding nothing, no details that I did not see. Hence the simplicity of the paintings, their emptiness.
Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.
And I would often wake up at night and stare widely into the room: Am I in Hell?
In my childhood I always felt that I was treated unjustly, without a mother, sick, and with the threat of punishment in Hell hanging over my head
The rich man who gives, steals twice over. First he steals the money and then the hearts of men.
My father was temperamentally nervous and obsessively religious—to the point of psychoneurosis. From him I inherited the seeds of madness. The angels of fear, sorrow, and death stood by my side since the day I was born.
Certainly a chair can be just as interesting as a human being. But first the chair must be perceived by a human being... You should not paint the chair, but only what someone has felt about it.
I painted the picture, and in the colors the rhythm of the music quivers. I painted the colors I saw.
Without fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.
It is better to have a good painting with ten holes than ten bad paintings without any holes.
It would be quite amusing to preach a bit to all those people who for many years now have been looking at our paintings and either laughed or shook their heads reproachfully. They do not believe that these impressions, these instant sensations, could contain even the smallest grain of sanity. If a tree is red or blue, or a face is blue or green, they are sure that is insanity.
I was walking along the road with two friends. The sun set. I felt a tinge of melancholy. Suddenly the sky became a bloody red... I stood there, trembling with fright. And I felt a loud, unending scream piercing nature.
I find it difficult to imagine an afterlife, such as Christians, or at any rate many religious people, conceive it, believing that the conversations with relatives and friends interrupted here on earth will be continued in the hereafter.
Photography is an art which touches and grips one's own heart's blood.
If what you want to paint is the emotive mood in all its strength... then you must not sit and stare at everything and depict it exactly as one sees it.
When I paint a person, his enemies always find the portrait a good likeness.
I learned early about the misery and dangers of life, and about the afterlife, about the external punishment which awaited the children of sin in Hell.
The way one sees is also dependent upon one's emotional state of mind. This is why a motif can be looked at in so many ways, and this is what makes art so interesting.
I have no fear of photography as long as it cannot be used in heaven and in hell.
I have been given a unique role to play on this earth: given to me by a life filled with sickness, ill-starred circumstances and my profession as an artist. It is a life that contains nothing that resembles happiness, and moreover does not even desire happiness.
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