An empty canvas is a living wonder - far lovelier than certain pictures.
In every painting a whole is mysteriously enclosed, a whole life of tortures, doubts, of hours of enthusiasm and inspiration.
I value those artists who embody the expression of their life.
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.
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.
The artist must have something to say, for mastery over form is not his goal but rather the adapting of form to its inner meaning.
Color cannot stand alone.
The force that propels the human spirit on the clear way forward and upward is the abstract spirit.
Almost without exception, blue refers to the domain of abstraction and immateriality.
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.
Objects damage pictures.
Color is the keyboard. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano, with its many strings.
As a picture painted in yellow always radiates spiritual warmth, or as one in blue has apparently a cooling effect, so green is only boring.
Our epoch is a time of tragic collision between matter and spirit and of the downfall of the purely material world view.
The work of art is born of the artist in a mysterious and secret way. From him it gains life and being. Nor is its existence casual and inconsequent, but it has a definite and purposeful strength, alike in its material and spiritual life.
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
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.
Doubts must be resolved alone within the soul. Otherwise one would profane one's own powerful solution.
Everything that is dead quivers. Not only the things of poetry, stars, moon, wood, flowers, but even a white trouser button glittering out of a puddle in the street... Everything has a secret soul, which is silent more often than it speaks.
Black is like the silence of the body after death, the close of life.
The composition is the organized sum of the interior functions of every part of the work.
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.
The eyes are hammers.
The artist is the hand that, by touching this or that key, sets the soul vibrating automatically.
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.
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