Many Of Those Who Are

Pictures Must Be Miraculous: The Instant One Is Completed, The Intimacy Between The Creation And The Creator Is Ended.

The Myth Holds Us, Therefore, Not Through Its Romantic Flavor, Not The Remembrance Of Beauty Of Some Bygone Age, Not Through The Possibilities Of Fantasy, But Because It Expresses To Us Something Real And Existing In Ourselves, As It Was To Those Who First Stumbled Upon The Symbols To Give Them Life.

I'm Not An Abstractionist. I'm Not Interested In The Relationship Of Color Or Form Or Anything Else. I'm Interested Only In Expressing Basic Human Emotions: Tragedy, Ecstasy, Doom, And So On.

A Picture Lives By Companionship, Expanding And Quickening In The Eyes Of The Sensitive Observer. It Dies By The Same Token. It Is Therefore Risky To Send It Out Into The World. How Often It Must Be Impaired By The Eyes Of The Unfeeling And The Cruelty Of The Impotent.

The Progression Of A Painter’s Work…will Be Toward Clarity; Toward The Elimination Of All Obstacles Between The Painter And The Idea, And Between The Idea And The Observer…to Achieve This Clarity Is, Inevitably, To Be Understood.