I love Monet - I've nicknamed him King Blob. When you go up to the painting, it's a series of blobs - amazing.
Monet's work would have been even greater if he had not abandoned figure-painting.
Before I got glasses, I thought Monet was the world's only realist landscape painter.
I like, you may say, the glitter and colour that comes from the mouth, and I've always hoped in a sense to be able to paint the mouth like Monet painted a sunset.
Monet is only an eye, but my God, what an eye!
After 1909, Monet drastically enlarged his brushstrokes, disintegrated his images, and broke through the taming constraints and delicacy of Impressionism for good. Nineteen gnarly paintings, starting in 1909 and carrying through his final seventeen years, finish off the notion that Monet went happily ever after into lily-land.
My, I like Judy Holliday! She looks like a Monet model. And she's so - so defenseless. I like defenseless people. They're the best.
I would like to be a great artist. I would quit pitching if I could paint like Monet or Rousseau. But I cant. What I can do is pitch, and I can do that very well.
Let there be no mincing of comparisons in this assertion. Not Turner, not Monet, painted so directly blinding shafts of sunlight as has this Spaniard.
The mind, as you age, Is an artist, it seems. Monet paints your mem’ries, Picasso your dreams.
In the art world, Monet means money.
