+ Art does not reproduce the visible, it makes
+ Beauty is as relative as light and dark. Thus,
there exists no beautiful woman, none at all,
because you are never certain that a still far
more beautiful woman will not appear and completely
shame the supposed beauty of the first.
+ Color has taken possession of me; no longer
do I have to chase after it. I know that it has
hold of me forever... Color and I are one. I am
+ Everything vanishes around me, and works are
born as if out of the void. Ripe, graphic fruits
fall off. My hand has become the obedient instrument
of a remote will.