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If one were to say but few words, though ones with meaning, one would do better than to say many that were only empty sounds, and just as easy to utter as they were of little use.
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If we study Japanese art, we see a man who is undoubtedly wise, philosophic and intelligent, who spends his time doing what? He studies a single blade of grass.
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Christ is more of an artist than the artists; he works in the living spirit and the living flesh, he makes men instead of statues.
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The only time I feel alive is when I'm painting.
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Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.
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What molting time is to birds, so adversity or misfortune is ... for us humans.
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Fortunately for me, I know well enough what I want, and am basically utterly indifferent to the criticism that I work to hurriedly. In answer to that, I have done some things even more hurriedly theses last few days.
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There certainly is an affinity between a person and his work, but it is not easy to define what this affinity is, and on that question many judge quite wrongly.
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I see drawings and pictures in the poorest huts, in the dirtiest corner. And my mind is drawn toward these things by an irresistible force.
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The world concerns me only in so far as I feel a certain indebtedness and duty toward it because I have walked this earth for thirty years, and, out of gratitude, want to leave some souvenir in the shape of drawings or pictures — not made to please a certain taste in art, but to express a sincere human feeling.
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I have played hell somewhat with the truthfulness of the colours.
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Admire as much as you can. Most people do not admire enough.
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In my view, I am often immensely rich, not in money, but (although just now perhaps not all the time) rich because I have found my metier, something I can devote myself to heart and soul and that gives inspiration and meaning to my life.
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Painting it was hard graft... in addition red, yellow, brown ochre, black, terra sienna, bistre, and the result is a red-brown that varies from bistre to deep wine-red and to pale, blond reddish.
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I began to paint again, even though I could barely hold the brush, but knowing exactly what I wanted to paint, I began three more large canvases... of large wheat fields under cloudy skies, and it did not take a great deal to express sadness and loneliness... I believe these paintings say what words cannot.
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I can't work without a model. I won't say I turn my back on nature ruthlessly in order to turn a study into a picture, arranging the colors, enlarging and simplifying; but in the matter of form I am too afraid of departing from the possible and the true.
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People are often unable to do anything, imprisoned as they are in I don't know what kind of terrible, terrible, oh such terrible cage.
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No blue without yellow and without orange, and if you do blue, then do yellow and orange as well, surely.
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There is peace even in the storm
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If I did not succeed I still thought that what I had worked on would be continued. Not immediately. But there are others who believe in things that are true.
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It is the painting that makes me so happy these days.
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There is something intimate about painting I cannot explain to you ? but it is so delightful just for expressing one's feelings.
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As practice makes perfect, I cannot but make progress; each drawing one makes, each study one paints, is a step forward.
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The emotions are sometimes so strong that I work without knowing it. The strokes come like speech.