There's a quality of life in Maine which is this singular and unique. I think. It's absolutely a world onto itself.
To me, this was an oxymoron, doing a painting of a dancer. Dancers are always moving.
I'm a very strange painter. I don't wake up one day and say, 'God, isn't this a fantastic day, I'd better get out and paint!' I think my father's more that way, because he's very fast.
From my earliest memories, my aunt was squirting out oil paint. I could just eat it. I would go from her studio and walk down to my father's house, and there he was, working in egg tempera.
Animals are not cute. They are disturbing. Pigs do eat their young. Actually, I hate pigs. I just happen to have some who are friends of mine.
As a child, I always wanted to live on a boat.
Being a painter is the only profession where you have to stand there with all your shortcomings on the wall.
Dance looks absurd on film, I think, like little puppets moving around.
I have continued to paint; my father - who was savaged by the critics - continued to paint until practically the last week of his life.
I have copies of the books my grandfather illustrated for Scribner's in each house. I read those books all the time.
I have hundreds of art books and the biographies of artists I love, such as Thomas Eakins and Edgar Degas.
I just can't whip off a likeness of somebody.
I learned from a longtime farmer that pigs enjoy soothing music.
I mostly paint animals I'm familiar with, but I did a series of paintings of ravens, so I read everything about them.
I paint every day. I really have no hobbies. That's all I do.
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