Love in an animal sense is an illness, but a necessity which one has to overcome.

We will enjoy ourselves with the forms that are given us: a human face, a hand, the breast of a woman or the body of a man, a glad or sorrowful expression, the infinite seas, the wild rocks, the melancholy language of the black trees in the snow, the wild strength of spring flowers and the heavy lethargy of a hot summer day when Pan, our old friend, sleeps and the ghosts of midday whisper. This alone is enough to make us forget the grief of the world, or to give it form.

Height, width, and depth are the three phenomena which I must transfer into one plane to form the abstract surface of the picture, and thus to protect myself from the infinity of space.

Painting is a very difficult thing. It absorbs the whole man, body and soul, thus have I passed blindly many things which belong to real and political life.

Love in an animal sense is an illness, but a necessity which one has to overcome.

Space, and space again, is the infinite deity which surrounds us and in which we are ourselves contained.

When spiritual, metaphysical, material, or immaterial events come into my life, I can only fix them by way of painting.