When looking at any significant work of art, remember that a more significant one probably has had to be sacrificed.

From the root, the sap rises up into the artist, flows through him, flows to his eye. Overwhelmed and activated by the force of the current, he conveys his vision into his work. And yet, standing at his appointed place as the trunk of the tree, he does nothing other than gather and pass on what rises from the depths. He neither serves nor commands he transmits. His position is humble. And the beauty at the crown is not his own; it has merely passed through him.

To give emphasis only to beauty makes me think of a mathematics that deals with positive numbers only.

To emphasize only the beautiful seems to me to be like a mathematical system that only concerns itself with positive numbers.

Everything vanishes around me, and works are born as if out of the void. Ripe, graphic fruits fall off. My hand has become the obedient instrument of a remote will.

It is the artistic mission to penetrate as far as may be toward that secret ground where primal law feeds growth.

A drawing is simply a line going for a walk.