What I Want To Show

I Think Only Of Objects: Of A Leg Or An Arm, Of The Wonderful Sense Of Foreshortening, Breaking Through The Plane, Of The Division Of Space, Of The Combination Of Straight Lines In Relation To Curved Ones.

Love In An Animal Sense Is An Illness, But A Necessity Which One Has To Overcome.

The World Is Rather Shot To Pieces [end Of World War Ii - 1945], But The Spectators Climb Out Of Their Caves And Pretend To Have Again Become Normal And Customary Humans Who Ask Each Other's Pardon Instead Of Eating One Another Or Sucking Each Other's Blood. The Entertaining Folly Of War Evaporates, Distinguished Boredom Sits Down Again On The Dignified Old Overstuffed Chairs.. .may I Report About Myself That I Have Had A Truly Grotesque Time, Brim-full With Work, Nazi Persecutions, Bombs, Hunger, And Again And Again Work - In Spite Of Everything [a. O. Using His Bed Sheets As Canvas For The New Paintings].

Height, Width, And Depth Are The Three Phenomena Which I Must Transfer Into One Plane To Form The Abstract Surface Of The Picture, And Thus To Protect Myself From The Infinity Of Space.

One Of My Problems Is To Find The Self.