There are some things in painting which cannot be explained, and that something is essential.

We are in a period of searchers rather than of creators.

I have a predilection for painting that lends joyousness to a wall.

If the painter works directly from nature, he ultimately looks for nothing but momentary effects; he does not try to compose, and soon he gets monotonous.

There are quite enough unpleasant things in life without the need to manufacture more.

One morning, one of us ran out of the black, it was the birth of Impressionism.

The pain passes, but the beauty remains.