Really, I think one’s art goes only as far and as deep as your love goes.
I don’t paint these hills around Chadds Ford because they’re better than the hills somewhere else. It’s that I was born here, lived here — things have a meaning for me.
I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future — the timelessness of the rocks and the hills — all the people who have existed there. I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape — the loneliness of it — the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.
I think anything like that — which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone — people always feel is sad. Is it because we’ve lost the art of being alone?
When I die don't ever worry about me. I don't believe in being there for the funeral. Remember that. I'll be flying far away, off on a new tack. Something new that's twice as good.
source: WSJ, Google Images
