A picture is a poem without words.

A picture is a poem without words.

If it is the love of that which your work represents--if, being a
landscape painter, it is love of read more

If it is the love of that which your work represents--if, being a
landscape painter, it is love of hills and trees that moves
you--if, being a figure painter, it is love of human beauty, and
human soul that moves you--if, being a flower or animal painter,
it is love, and wonder, and delight in petal and in limb that
move you, then the Spirit is upon you, and the earth is yours,
and the fullness thereof.

I only feel, but want the power to paint.
[Lat., Nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum.]

I only feel, but want the power to paint.
[Lat., Nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum.]

Are we to paint what's on the face, what's inside the face, or what's behind it?

Are we to paint what's on the face, what's inside the face, or what's behind it?

Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things

Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things

From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly read more

From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with light his blended colors glow.
. . . .
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring.

As certain as the Correggiosity of Correggio.

As certain as the Correggiosity of Correggio.

One picture in ten thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the
applause of mankind, from generation to generation until read more

One picture in ten thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the
applause of mankind, from generation to generation until the
colors fade and blacken out of sight or the canvas rot entirely
away.

Every time I paint a portrait I lose a friend.

Every time I paint a portrait I lose a friend.