Many people say that I don't know how to draw because I don't draw particular forms. When will they understand that execution, drawing and color (in other words, style) must be in harmony with the poem?
The history of modern art is also the history of the progressive loss of art's audience. Art has increasingly become the concern of the artist and the bafflement of the public.
I plunged eagerly and passionately into the wilderness, as if in the hope of thus penetrating into the very heart of this Nature, powerful and maternal, there to blend with her living elements.
In art one is concerned with the condition of the spirit for three quarters of the time; one must therefore care for oneself if he wishes to make something great and lasting.
I am entering into the truth, into nature.
Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.
And here in my isolation I can grow stronger. Poetry seems to come of itself, without effort, and I need only let myself dream a little while painting to suggest it.
It is useless to advise solitude for everyone; one must be strong enough to endure it and to work alone.
Many excellent cooks are spoilt by going into the arts.
How to re-light the fire the very ashes of which are scattered?
I am a great artist and I know it. It's because of what I am that I have endured so much suffering, so as to pursue my vocation, otherwise I would consider myself a rogue - which is what many people think I am, for that matter.
If I did what has already been done, I would be a plagiarist and would consider myself unworthy; so I do something different and people call me a scoundrel. I'd rather be a scoundrel than a plagiarist!
Wherever I go I need a period of incubation so that I may learn the essence of nature, which never wishes to be understood or yield herself.
In art, all who have done something other than their predecessors have merited the epithet of revolutionary; and it is they alone who are masters.
With practice the craft will come almost of itself, in spite of you and all the more easitly if you think of something besides technique.
Painting is the most beautiful of all arts. In it, all sensations are condensed, at its aspect everyone may create romance at the will of his imagination, and at a glance have his soul invaded by the most profound memories, no efforts of memory, everything summed up in one moment. Complete art which sums up all the others and completes them.
There are two sorts of beauty; one is the result of instinct, the other of study. A combination of the two, with the resulting modifications, brings with it a very complicated richness, which the art critic ought to try to discover.
What still concerns me the most is: am I on the right track, am I making progress, am I making mistakes in art?
It is the eye of ignorance that assigns a fixed and unchangeable color to every object; beware of this stumbling block.
In art, there are only two types of people: revolutionaries and plagiarists. And in the end, doesn't the revolutionary's work become official, once the State takes it over?
How do you see those tree?... They are yellow. Well then put down yellow. And that shadow is rather blue. So render it with pure ultramarine. Those red leaves? Use vermillion.
Why work? The gods are there to lavish upon the faithful the good gifts of nature.
for Christ's sake, were the mountains blue, then chuck on some blue and don't go telling me that it was a blue a bit like this or like that, it was blue wasn't it? Good - make them blue and that's enough!
The flat sound of my wooden clogs on the cobblestones, deep, hollow and powerful, is the note I seek in my painting.
There are noble tones, ordinary ones, tranquil harmonies, consoling ones, others which excite by their vigour.
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