And life is what we make it. Always has been, always will be.
I look back on my life like a good day’s work, it was done and I am satisfied with it.
I look out the window sometimes to seek the color of the shadows and the different greens in the trees, but when I get ready to paint I just close my eyes and imagine a scene.
A strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, and the other forward; one is of today, the other of tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day.
A primitive artist is an amateur whose work sells.
I like to paint something that leads me on and on into the unknown, something that I want to see away on beyond...
I’ll get an inspiration and start painting; then I’ll forget everything, everything except how things used to be and how to paint it so people will know how we used to live.
I paint from the top down. From the sky, then the mountains, then the hills, then the houses, then the cattle, and then the people.
Life is what you make it.
I would never sit back in a rocking chair, waiting for someone to help me.
If I hadn’t started painting, I would have raised chickens.
I have written my life in small sketches, a little today, a little yesterday, as I have thought of it, as I remember all the things from childhood on through the years, good ones and unpleasant ones, that is how they come out and that is how we have to take them.
People should take time to be happy.
Someone has asked me to paint Biblical pictures, and I say no, I’ll not paint something that we know nothing about, might just as well paint something that will happen two thousand years hence.