Every work of art is the child of its time, often it is the mother of our emotions.

Every work of art is the child of its age and, in many cases, the mother of our emotions. It follows that each period of culture produces an art of its own which can never be repeated.

There is only one road to follow, that of analysis of the basic elements in order to arrive ultimately at an adequate graphic expression.

The eyes are hammers.

The sound of colors is so definite that it would be hard to find anyone who would express bright yellow with bass notes or dark lake with treble.

The more abstract is form, the more clear and direct its appeal.

The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip.