Art looks like a social phenomenon, but in essence it is an almost natural phenomenon, something like a volcanic eruption. It does not record history, nor does it make history, nor does it precede or follow its time. Art is love, in the broadest sense of the word, it is the expression and overflow of a fullness. It does not obey theories, which it constantly refutes, has its own logic and is not interpreted in words. Art is not militant or calm, but it is like the wind, which is sometimes wild and strong and sometimes peaceful.