There is no blue without yellow and without orange.
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Painting is something that takes place among the colors, and one has to leave them alone completely, so that they can settle the matter among themselves. Their intercourse: this is the whole of painting. Whoever meddles, arranges, injects his human deliberation, his wit, his advocacy, his intellectual agility in any way, is already disturbing and clouding their activity.
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White is not a mere absence of color; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. God paints in many colors; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white.
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Colors are the smiles of nature.
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Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways.
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He had that curious love of green, which in individuals is always the sign of a subtle artistic temperament, and in nations is said to denote a laxity, if not a decadence of morals.
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Colors, like features, follow the changes of the emotions.
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Blueness doth express trueness.
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I cannot pretend to feel impartial about colors. I rejoice with the brilliant ones and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns.
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Why do two colors, put one next to the other, sing? Can one really explain this? no. Just as one can never learn how to paint.
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Color possesses me. I don't have to pursue it. It will possess me always, I know it. That is the meaning of this happy hour: Color and I are one. I am a painter.
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