It seems to me that today, if the artist wishes to be serious - to cut out a little original niche for himself, or at least preserve his own innocence of personality - he must once more sink himself in solitude. There is too much talk and gossip; pictures are apparently made, like stock-market prices, by competition of people eager for profit; in order to do anything at all we need (so to speak) the wit and ideas of our neighbors as much as the businessmen need the funds of others to win on the market. All this traffic sharpens our intelligence and falsifies our judgment.
Only two of my personalities are schizophrenic, but one of them is paranoid and the other one is out to get him. Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things.
My art, what do you want to say about it? Do you think you can explain the merits of a picture to those who do not see them? . . . I can find the best and clearest words to explain my meaning, and I have spoken to the most intelligent people about art, and they have not understood; but among people who understand, words are not necessary, you say humph, he, ha and everything has been said.
Taste! It doesn't exist. An artist makes beautiful things without being aware of it.
Great patience is called for on the hard path that I have entered on.
He once said that he wished to be famous, but unknown.
You have to have a high conception, not of what you are doing, but of what you may do one day: without that, there's no point in working.
Art' is the same word as 'artifice,' that is to say, something deceitful. It must succeed in giving the impression of nature by false means.
No art is less spontaneous than mine. What I do is the result of reflection and the study of the great masters.
Muses work all day long and then at night get together and dance.
If I could have had my own way, I would have confined myself to black and white.
Drawing is not the same as form, it is a way of seeing form.
Hitherto the nude has always been represented in poses which presuppose an audience. But my women are simple, honest creatures who are concerned with nothing beyond their physical occupations... it is as if you were looking through a keyhole.
Daylight is too easy. What I want is difficult - the atmosphere of lamps and moonlight.
I should like to be famous and unknown.
What use is my mind? Granted that it enables me to hail a bus and to pay my fare. But once I am inside my studio, what use is my mind? I have my model, my pencil, my paints. My mind doesn't interest me.
It seems to me that today if the artist wishes to be serious... he must once more sink himself in solitude.
The frame is the reward of the artist.
Make a drawing. Start it all over again, trace it. Start it and trace it again.
Instantaneity is photography.
People call me the painter of dancers, but I really wish to capture movement itself.
What a delightful thing is the conversation of specialists! One understands absolutely nothing and it's charming.
The Dance instills in you something that sets you apart. Something heroic and remote.
Art is vice. One does not wed it, one rapes it.
There is no such thing as Intelligence; one has intelligence of this or that. One must have intelligence only for what one is doing.
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