Photography is an art which touches and grips one's own heart's blood.

Your face encompasses the beauty of the whole earth. Your lips, as red as ripening fruit, gently part as if in pain. It is the smile of a corpse. Now the hand of death touches life. The chain is forged that links the thousand families that are dead to the thousand generations to come.

Painting picture by picture, I followed the impressions my eye took in at heightened moments. I painted only memories, adding nothing, no details that I did not see. Hence the simplicity of the paintings, their emptiness.

Death is pitch-dark, but colors are light. To be a painter, one must work with rays of light.

Through my art I have tried to explain my life and its meaning. I have also intended to help others to clarify their lives.

Youth must go ahead and prosper. These young painters are all very talented people, but they all paint frescoes.

It would be quite amusing to preach a bit to all those people who for many years now have been looking at our paintings and either laughed or shook their heads reproachfully. They do not believe that these impressions, these instant sensations, could contain even the smallest grain of sanity. If a tree is red or blue, or a face is blue or green, they are sure that is insanity.