The true work of art is born from the 'artist': a mysterious, enigmatic, and mystical creation. It detaches itself from him, it acquires an autonomous life, becomes a personality, an independent subject, animated with a spiritual breath, the living subject of a real existence of being.

The artist must have something to say, for mastery over form is not his goal but rather the adapting of form to its inner meaning.

With cold eyes and indifferent mind the spectators regard the work. Connoissers admire the "skill" (as one admires a tightrope walker), enjoy the "quality of painting" (as one enjoys a pasty). But hungry souls go hungry away. The vulgar herd stroll through the rooms and pronounce the pictures "nice" or "splendid." Those who could speak have said nothing, those who could hear have heard nothing.

The sound of colors is so definite that it would be hard to find anyone who would express bright yellow with bass notes or dark lake with treble.

The more abstract is form, the more clear and direct its appeal.

All methods are sacred if they are internally necessary. All methods are sins if they are not justified by internal necessity.