I do not weep: I loathe tears, for they are a sign of slavery. Max Beckmann loathesignslavery Change image and share on social
I think only of objects: of a leg or an arm, of the wonderful sense of foreshortening, breaking through the plane, of the division of space, of the combination of straight lines in relation to curved ones. Max Beckmann armbreakcombination share on social
What are you? What am I? Those are the questions that constantly persecute and torment me and perhaps also play some part in my art. Max Beckmann artconstantlypart Change image and share on social
Height, width, and depth are the three phenomena which I must transfer into one plane to form the abstract surface of the picture, and thus to protect myself from the infinity of space. Max Beckmann abstractdepthform Change image and share on social
On my left the shooting had the sharp explosion of the infantry artillery, on my right could be heard the sporadic cannon shots thundering from the front, and up above the sky was clear and the sun bright. Max Beckmann artillerybrightcannon share on social
I went across the fields to avoid the straight highways, along the firing lines where people were shooting at a small wooded hill, which is now covered with wooden crosses and lines of graves instead of spring flowers. Max Beckmann avoidcovercrosse share on social
I hardly need to abstract things, for each object is unreal enough already, so unreal that I can only make it real by means of painting. Max Beckmann abstractmakemean Change image and share on social
There is nothing I hate more than sentimentality. Max Beckmann hatesentimentality Change image and share on social
I believe the reason I love painting so much is that it forces one to be objective. Max Beckmann forceloveobjective Change image and share on social
Space, and space again, is the infinite deity which surrounds us and in which we are ourselves contained. Max Beckmann containdeityinfinite Change image and share on social
