Painting Metaphors, Analogies and Similes
When I paint the sea roars. The others splash about in a bathtub.
All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once one grows up.
Our painters have become like court jesters of some Caligula-like despot, cavorting in clown masks, mocking themselves and their art.
A painting in a museum hears more ridiculous opinions than anything else in the world.
The painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through.
I am not strictly speaking mad, for my mind is absolutely normal in the intervals. But during attacks it is terrible — and then I lose consciousness of everything. But that spurs me on to the work and to seriousness, as a miner who is always in danger makes haste in what he does.
To me apples are fruit. To Cézanne they were mountains.
We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and bones.
Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.
To convince Cézanne of anything is like teaching the towers of Notre Dame to dance.
From the mountain summit the fields below were boldly outlined by dark hedges, as though van Gogh painted them to make them more real to his fragile mind.
The flat sound of my wooden clogs on the cobblestones, deep, hollow and powerful, is the note I seek in painting.
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