We were created to look at one another, weren't we?
People call me the painter of dancers, but I really wish to capture movement itself.
And even this heart of mine has something artificial. The dancers have sewn it into a bag of pink satin, pink satin slightly faded, like their dancing shoes.
Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things.
An artist must approach his work in the spirit of the criminal about to commit a crime.
Daylight is too easy. What I want is difficult - the atmosphere of lamps and moonlight.