If only he could work faster.Yet if he did work faster, how could he produce paintings grounded in deep beds of contemplation, the only way living things could be stilled long enough to understand them?And wasn't everything he painted--a breadbasket, a pitcher, a jewelry box, a copper pan--wasn’t it all living?
Truth is a shining goddess, always veiled, always distant,
never wholly approachable, but worthy of all the
devotion of which the human spirit is capable.