I have tried to present my sensations in what is the most congenial and impressive form possible to me.
I find linseed oil and white lead the most satisfactory mediums.
I find in working always the disturbing intrusion of elements not a part of my most interested vision, and the inevitable obliteration and replacement of this vision by the work itself as it proceeds.
Well, I've always been interested in approaching a big city in a train, and I can't exactly describe the sensations, but they're entirely human and perhaps have nothing to do with aesthetics.
There will be, I think, an attempt to grasp again the surprise and accidents of nature and a more intimate and sympathetic study of its moods, together with a renewed wonder and humility on the part of such as are still capable of these basic reactions.
The trend in some of the contemporary movements in art, but by no means all, seems to deny this ideal and to me appears to lead to a purely decorative conception of painting.
The question of the value of nationality in art is perhaps unsolvable.
The only real influence I've ever had was myself.
Painting will have to deal more fully and less obliquely with life and nature's phenomena before it can again become great.
No amount of skillful invention can replace the essential element of imagination.