January is my favorite month, when the light is plainest, least colored. And I like the feeling of beginnings.
It is ultimately character that underwrites art.
artists often lie behind on the field long after the art combine, the broad-bladed harvester of informed criticism, has mowed, bailed, and stored the crop.
I have no home but me.
I never decided at all to be an artist; being an artist seems to have happened to me.
the capacity to work feeds on itself and has its own course of development. This is what artists have going for them.