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.

I applied streaks and blobs of colors onto the canvas with a palette knife, and I made them sing with all the intensity I could.

A painter, who finds no satisfaction in mere representation, however artistic, in his longing to express his inner life, cannot but envy the ease with which music, the most non-material of the arts today, achieves this end. He naturally seeks to apply the methods of music to his own art.

The eyes are hammers.

Empty canvas. In appearance - really empty, silent, indifferent. Stunned, almost. In effect - full of tensions, with thousand subdued voices, heavy with expectations. A little frightened because it may be violated

The sensations of colors on the palette can be spiritual experiences.

Color is the keyboard. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano, with its many strings.