painters

All colours are the friends of their neighbours and the lovers of their opposites.

I paint objects as I think them not as I see them.

I hope with all my heart there will be painting in heaven.

Everyone wants to understand painting. Why don't they try to understand the singing of birds? People love the night a flower everything that surrounds them without trying to understand them. But painting - that they must understand.

To say to the painter that Nature is to be taken as she is is to say to the player that he may sit on the piano.

I dream my painting and then I paint my dream.

Some day they will know what I mean.

The purest and most thoughtful minds are those which love colour the most.

Buy old masters. They fetch a better price than old mistresses.

Painting n: the art of protecting flat surfaces from the weather and exposing them to the critic.

Every time I paint a portrait I lose a friend.

I came there again another time. And I looked many times again. I was filled with consolation, with my consolation.The thirty-three abominations were truthful. They were the truth. They were life. The sharp fragments of life, sharp, complete moments. Such are women. They have lovers.Each of these thirty-three (or how many of them were there?) had painted his mistress. Excellent! I grew used to myself being in their presence.Thirty-three mistresses! Thirty-three mistresses!And I was all of them and yet all were not me.I studied the abomination for a long while: before I modeled for them, as well as afterwards.I modelled in order to study. This I felt so keenly. It seemed to me that I was learning about life by pieces, by separate pieces, fragments, but every fragment possessed all its own complexity and power.The abominations began to divide in half. With every day this became clearer. One half became mistresses and the other half queens.Each of the thirty-three created his mistress or his queen.("Thirty Three Abominations")

Know everything. Say nothing.

The suprematist must have a superior knowledge of understanding. With out that, their art is powerless

To love is a natural instinct. To be loved is __omething_. To be loved like crazy, like their life depends on you is a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. How many of us can keep their right hand on their heart and say that they have actually experienced something like that? Not many, I guess. Because you know what, once-in-a-lifetime moments, well, come once in a lifetime. You either have to extremely, enormously and tremendously lucky or have to manage to fascinate a poet or a painter or someone really very naïve or mentally unsound.

The canvas is the door to another dimension. The paintbrush is the key.

You can never kill the spirit of an artist. They will always rewrite their resurrection and paint an eternal sunset with a blaze of orange that no one has seen before.

The painter folded back the heavy curtain, standing in the stream of light breaking through the damp thickness of the room. He paused, still holding the drape in his hand as he considered with suspicion that a world could exist outside the window.