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.

The arts are encroaching one upon another, and from a proper use of this encroachment will rise the art that is truly monumental.

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

The artist is the hand that, by touching this or that key, sets the soul vibrating automatically.

Black is like the silence of the body after death, the close of life.

Generally speaking, color directly influences the soul.

The artist must have something to say, for mastery over form is not his goal but rather the adapting of form to its inner meaning.