The only reward one should offer an artist is to buy his work.
I look at a nude. There are myriads of tiny tints. I must find the ones that will make the flesh on my canvas live and quiver.
A painter who has the feel of breasts and buttocks is saved.
I had wrung impressionism dry and I finally came to the conclusion that I know neither how to paint nor how to draw.
One must from time to time attempt things that are beyond one's capacity.
And if out of a million visitors there is even one to whom art means something, that is enough to justify museums.