The life of an artist is like the life of a monk, a lewd monk if you like, very Rabelaisian. It is an ordination.
You cannot define electricity. The same can be said of art. It is a kind of inner current in a human being, or something which needs no definition.
An abstract painting need in 50 years by no means look “abstract” any longer.
No, the thing to do is try to make a painting that will be alive in your own lifetime.
In the creative act, the artist goes from intention to realization through a chain of totally subjective reactions.
I don’t care about the word ‘art’ because it has been so discredited. So I want to get rid of it. There is an unnecessary adoration of ‘art’ today.
I consider painting as a means of expression, not as a goal.
I believe that the artist doesn’t know what he does. I attach even more importance to the spectator than to the artist.
Chess players are madmen of a certain quality, the way the artist is supposed to be, and isn’t, in general.
Anything is art if an artist says it is.
In the last analysis, the artist may shout from all the rooftops that he is a genius; he will have to wait for the verdict of posterity.
To all appearances, the artist acts like a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.
The artist performs only one part of the creative process. The onlooker completes it, and it is the onlooker who has the last word.
The only thing that is not art is inattention.
My idea was to chose an object that wouldn’t attract me, either by its beauty or by its ugliness. To find a point of indifference in my looking at it, you see.
Let us consider two important factors, the two poles of the creation of art: the artist on one hand, and on the other the spectator who later becomes the posterity; to all appearances the artist acts like a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.
D’ailleurs c’est toujours les autres qui meurent.
Traditionally, artists suffered for their art, now it’s the audience.
They’re such supreme egos. It’s disgusting. I’ve never seen anything worse than an artist as a mind. It is very low, uninteresting as far as the relationship of men is concerned.
The American woman is the most intelligent woman in the world today – the only one that always knows what she wants, and therefore always gets it. Hasn’t she proved it by making her husband in his role as slave-banker look almost ridiculous in the eyes of the whole world? Not only has she intelligence but a wonderful beauty of line is hers, possessed by no other woman of any race at the present time.
Everything important that I have done can be put into a little suitcase.