[b]Edgar Degas
Only two of my personalities are schizophrenic, but one of them is paranoid and the other one is out to get him. Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things.[/b]
Sure, he might mean it.
It seems to me that today if the artist wishes to be serious…he must once more sink himself in solitude.
That goes double for philosophers. At least.
Or not of course.
So that’s the telephone? They ring, and you run.
Not so much today, right?
Art critic! Is that a profession? When I think we are stupid enough, we painters, to solicit those people’s compliments and to put ourselves into their hands! What shame! Should we even accept that they talk about our work?
Must have been a particularly bad review.
One must do the same subject over again ten times, a hundred times. In art nothing must resemble an accident, not even movement.
How ridiculous is that, he thought.
I’m glad I haven’t found my style yet. I’d be bored to death.
Can’t say that about me, can you?