An active line on a walk, moving freely, without goal. A walk for a walk's sake.
All art is a memory of age-old things, dark things, whose fragments live on in the artist.
It is a great difficulty and a great necessity to have to start with the smallest.
A single day is enough to make us a little larger or, another time, a little smaller.
My hand is entirely the implement of a distant sphere. It is not my head that functions but something else, something higher, something somewhere remote. I must have great friends there, dark as well as bright. They are all very kind to me.
The painter should not paint what he sees, but what will be seen.