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.
There are two things in the painter, the eye and the mind; each of them should aid the other.
The awareness of our own strength makes us modest.
I wished to copy nature. I could not. But I was satisfied when I discovered the sun, for instance, could not be reproduced, but only represented by something else.
I have not tried to reproduce nature; I have represented it.
The world doesn't understand me and I don't understand the world, that's why I've withdrawn from it.
Time and reflection change the sight little by little 'till we come to understand.
For an Impressionist to paint from nature is not to paint the subject, but to realize sensations.
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 think, everything is lost.
It's not just about looking and copying, it's about feeling too
It's so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.
The painter unfolds that which has not been seen.
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.
There is no model, there is only color.
Painting is damned difficult - you always think you've got it, but you haven't.
With an apple I will astonish Paris.
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.
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.
Shadow is a colour as light is, but less brilliant; light and shadow are only the relation of two tones.
A puny body weakens the soul.
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.
I owe you the truth in painting, and I will tell it to you.
The landscape becomes human, becomes a thinking, living being within me. I become one with my picture...we merge in an iridescent chaos.
One does not substitute oneself for the past, one merely adds to it a new link.
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