«Paul Klee» kitobidan iqtiboslar

When the doorbell rang I hid to keep the visitor from seeing me in this state (two to three years old). My grandmother, Frau Frick, taught me very early to draw with crayons. Her dead body made a deep impression on me. No resemblance could be detected. We weren’t allowed to come close. And Aunt Mathilda’s tears flowed like a quiet brook. For a long time I shuddered whenever I passed the door leading down to the cellar of the hospital, where the corpse had been kept for a while. That the dead could terrify us, I had thus learned; but shedding tears appeared to me a custom

leafed through them. In the process I felt something that seemed like hope reawaken in me. By chance I saw my mirror-image in the windowpane and I thought about the man looking out at me. Quite like

Often I said that I served Beauty by drawing her enemies (caricature, satire). But that is not enough. I must shape her directly with the full strength of my conviction. A distant, noble aim. Half asleep, I already

with D. through the vine-covered hills from Weil up to Tüllingen. I can still see the fruit-laden plain spreading broadly at our feet. Many visits to the theatre. Mainly opera. An evening of ballet. I composed many a quatrain to compensate for my too meagre satisfactions. Art as authentic as it was bad. Bern. 12.12.1897. After a time I once again