„I thought I should make something – I felt it would be so easy – it would take form under my hands like magic.Then people would see!A strong naked arm – a tanned powerful neck a young woman rests her head on the arching chest.She closes her eyes and listens with open and quivering lips to the words he whispers into her long flowing hair.I should paint that image just as I saw it – but in the blue haze.Those two at that moment, no longer merely themselves, but simply a link in the chain binding generation to generation.People should understand the significance, the power of it. They should remove their hats like they do in church.There should be no more pictures of interiors, of people reading and women knitting.There would be pictures of real people who breathed, suffered, felt, loved.I felt impelled – it would be easy. The flesh would have volume – the colours would be alive.There was an interval. The music stopped. I was a little sad. I remembered how many times I had had similar thoughts – and that once I had finished the painting – they had simply shaken their heads and smiled.Once again I found myself out on the Boulevard des Italiens.“

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