Art Is Not A Pastime But A

One Of The Characteristics Of The Dream Is That Nothing Surprises Us In It. With No Regret, We Agree To Live In It With Strangers, Completely Cut Off From Our Habits And Friends.

It Seems To Me That Invisibility Is The Required Provision Of Elegance. Elegance Ceases To Exist When It Is Noticed.

The Runner Stopped Dead, Lost His Balance, Froze In One Of Those Violent Attitudes In Which The Photographers Petrify Living Reality.

The Smell Of Opium Is The Least Stupid Smell In The World.

A Picture Is Not A Window...an Abstract Refers To No Reality But Its Own.