The faces we see in our dreams.
In search of a lost paradise.
Painted for Marie Antoinette and never made a dime.
Realism is not always nice.
May the downfall of the old world of the arts be etched on the palms of your hands.
I'm sending this letter along with that of your dear daughter Anna, my dear colleague in the arts, in order to tell you of my deep affection for her.
Ancient life was all silence. With the invention of the machine, Noise was born. Today, Noise triumphs and reigns supreme over the sensibility of men.
In what honour and dignity this art was anciently held amongst the Greeks and Romans, the old authors sufficiently testify; though afterwards all but lost, while it lay hid for more than a thousand years.