Nature Is Garrulous To The

Everything Vanishes Around Me, And Works Are Born As If Out Of The Void. Ripe, Graphic Fruits Fall Off. My Hand Has Become The Obedient Instrument Of A Remote Will.

Color Possesses Me. I Don't Have To Pursue It. It Will Possess Me Always, I Know It. That Is The Meaning Of This Happy Hour: Color And I Are One. I Am A Painter.

I Still Come Closest To Success With Drawing. When I Use Color The Results Are Dubious, For These Painfully Gained Experiences Bear Less Fruit.

Reduction! One Wants To Say More Than Nature And One Makes The Impossible Mistake Of Wanting To Say It With More Means Than She, Instead Of Fewer.

A Certain Fire Pretends To Be Alive; It Awakens. Working Its Way Along The Hand As A Conductor, It Reaches The Support And Engulfs It; Then A Leaping Spark Closes The Circle It Was To Trace, Coming Back To The Eye And Beyond.