Colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas.

I was walking down the road with two friends when the sun set; suddenly, the sky turned as red as blood. I stopped and leaned against the fence, feeling unspeakably tired. Tongues of fire and blood stretched over the bluish black fjord. My friends went on walking, while I lagged behind, shivering with fear. Then I heard the enormous infinite scream of nature.

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

All art, literature, and music must be born in your heart's blood. Art is your heart's blood.

For as long as I can remember I have suffered from a deep feeling of anxiety which I have tried to express in my art.

No longer shall I paint interiors with men reading and women knitting. I will paint living people who breathe and feel and suffer and love.

Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.