The richness of the world, all artificial pleasures, have the taste of sickness and give off a smell of death in the face of certain spiritual possessions.
A tree against the sky possesses the same interest, the same character, the same expression as the figure of a human.
The artist discards all theories, both his own and those of others. He forgets everything when he is in front of his canvas.
For me, painting is a way to forget life. It is a cry in the night, a strangled laugh.
The conscience of an artist worthy of the name is like an incurable disease which causes him endless torment but occasionally fills him with silent joy.
I am a believer and a conformist.
My only objective is to paint a Christ so moving that those who see him will be converted.
Often pagans, with their eyes wide open, do not see very clearly.
Subjective artists are one-eyed, but objective artists are blind.
Nothing is old, nothing is new, save the light of grace underneath which beats a human heart. The way of feeling, of understanding, of loving; the way of seeing the country, the faces that your father saw, that your mother knew. The rest is chimerical.
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