That which I have dreamed is always very far from that which I am able to hold fast and write down on paper. An artist seems to me to be a man who looks at beauty through a pair of glasses which, as he breathes, becomes clouded over and veils the beauty he sees. He takes his handkerchief. He cleans his glasses. He sees clearly again. But at the first breath the absolute beauty disappears. It is only the veil, the approximation, that we can perceive.