An artist is a deception.. ..an artist is only an artist at certain times, by an effort of will.. ..the study of nature is a cliché; isn't Manet the living proof? For although he prided himself on slavishly copying nature, he was the most inadequate painter in the world, not making a single brushstroke without reference to the old masters; for instance, he refrained from drawing fingernails because Frans Hals did not draw them.
French Impressionist artist (1834–1917)
Edgar Degas (19 July 1834 – 27 September 1917), was a French painter, print-maker and sculptor. He was moreover an active organizer of several Impressionist exhibitions, but never painted 'plain air' himself.
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Alternative Names:
Hilaire Germain Edgar de Gas
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Ėdgar Dega
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Edgar Germain Hilaire Degas
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Edgar Dega
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Hilarie Germain Edgar Degas
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H. G. E. Degas
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E. Degas
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Hilaire Germain Degas
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hilaire germain edgar degas
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Te-chia
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degas edgar
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Edgar Hilaire Germain Degas
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h.g.e. degas
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edgar hilaire germain degas
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h.e.g. degas
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Hilaire-Germain-Edgar De Gas
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hilaire degas
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Jilaira Germain Edgar Degas
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hilaire german edgar degas
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Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas
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Hilaire Germain Edgar Degas
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jilaire germain edgar degas degas
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Hilaire Germain Edgar Degas Degas
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degas e.
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degas h.g.e.
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hilaire germaine edgar degas
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Degas
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e. degas
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Hillaire germaine edgar degas
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Hilaire Germain Edgar De Gas
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edgar hillaire germaine degas
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Edgar (Hilaire Germain) Degas
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villas with columns in different styles [in Louisiana, America] painted white, in gardens of magnolias, orange trees, banana trees, negroes in old clothes like characters from La Belle Jardiniere.. ..rosy white children in black [negro] arms.. ..a brilliant light which streams my eyes.. ..the Negresses of all shades, holding in their arms little white babies, so white, against white houses with columns of fluted wood and in gardens of orange trees. [quote on his journey through America during 1872]
I have been singularly hard with myself. I have had to be. You must realize that this is so, since you have, at times, reproached me for it, and were astonished because I had so little confidence in myself. I have been, or seemed, hard with everyone because I was carried away by a sort of brutality born of my distrust in myself and my ill-humor. I have felt so badly equipped, so soft, in spite of the fact that my attitude towards art seemed to me so just. I was disgusted with everyone, and especially myself. I ask your pardon, then, if, with this damned art as an excuse, I have wounded your noble and intelligent spirit; perhaps even your heart..