Color is the keyboard. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano, with its many strings.
The spirit, like the body, can be strengthened and developed by frequent exercise. Just as the body, if neglected, grows weaker and finally impotent, so the spirit perishes if untended.
Almost without exception, blue refers to the domain of abstraction and immateriality.
The composition is the organized sum of the interior functions of every part of the work.
I value those artists who embody the expression of their life.
The word compositon moved me spiritually and I made it my aim in life to paint a composition. It affected me like a prayer and filled me with awe.
Color cannot stand alone.
In general, therefore, color is a means of exerting a direct influence upon the soul. Color is the keyboard. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano with its many strings. The artist is the hand that purposefully sets the soul vibrating by means of this or that key.
I applied streaks and blobs of colors onto the canvas with a palette knife, and I made them sing with all the intensity I could.
The eyes are hammers.
The sound of colors is so definite that it would be hard to find anyone who would express bright yellow with bass notes or dark lake with treble.
Every work of art is the child of its age and, in many cases, the mother of our emotions. It follows that each period of culture produces an art of its own which can never be repeated.
The artist is the hand that, by touching this or that key, sets the soul vibrating automatically.
Empty canvas. In appearance - really empty, silent, indifferent. Stunned, almost. In effect - full of tensions, with thousand subdued voices, heavy with expectations. A little frightened because it may be violated
In the hierarchy of colors, green represents the social middle class, self-satisfied, immovable, narrow.
Art is not vague production, transitory and isolated, but a power which must be directed to the improvement and refinement of the human soul.
With cold eyes and indifferent mind the spectators regard the work. Connoissers admire the "skill" (as one admires a tightrope walker), enjoy the "quality of painting" (as one enjoys a pasty). But hungry souls go hungry away. The vulgar herd stroll through the rooms and pronounce the pictures "nice" or "splendid." Those who could speak have said nothing, those who could hear have heard nothing.
The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip.
It is essential that the painter should develop not only his eyes, but also his soul, so that it too may be capable of weighing colors in balance.
Black is like the silence of the body after death, the close of life.
Abstract art places a new world, which on the surface has nothing to do with 'reality,' next to the 'real' world.
I really believe that I am the first and only artist to throw not just the 'subject' out of my paintings, but every 'object' as well.
An empty canvas is a living wonder - far lovelier than certain pictures.
All methods are sacred if they are internally necessary. All methods are sins if they are not justified by internal necessity.
A world of colors on the palette remaining... wandering... on canvases still emerging.
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