Marsden Hartley (January 4, 1877 – September 2, 1943) was an American Modernist painter, poet, and essayist.
It is the incongruous thing in my entire life, this isolation. . . . My work requires it - but I myself have no need or use for it - Perhaps once on a time I found isolation imperative - I think all chrysalides do - all embryos go for the underside of the leaf in the time of body-change preparing for the final reassertion -resurrection - the establishment of the entity. But now I've come up tot the outside of my casements.
A reaction, to be pleasant, must be simple.
I have achieved the 'sacred' pilgrimage to Ktaadn MT - exceeding all my expectations so far that I am sort of helpless with words. I feel as if I have seen God for the first time, and find him so nonchalantly solemn.
I see the possibility of being 'made new' again and the gift of rebirth is all that lets anyone really live. . . . The great secret. . . . is never to get stuck, imprisoned in common social patterns. They always paralyse the real quality of life - the 'going onward' is all that matters, and the dead moments in one's life through trying to be a unit in any society or social concept are terrifying really.
The essential of a real picture is that the things which occur in it occur to him in his peculiarly personal fashion. . . . the idea of modernity is but a new attachment of things universal - a fresh relationship to the courses of the sun and to the living swing of the earth - a new fire of affection for the living essence present everywhere.
the virtue of Yankee upbringing spiritually speaking is of more downright value to me than any past heritages.
I don't want to escape via intellectual ruses – I want affirmations via passionate embraces & you can't have life unless you live it.
All things that are living are expression and therefore part of the inherent symbology of life. Art, therefore, that is encumbered with excessive symbolism is extraneous, and from my point of view, useless art. Anyone who understands life needs no handbook of poetry or philosophy to tell him what it is.
The reading of tourist prospectuses is one of the joys of the world -- it is like operetta in prose -- all so flowery and heavenlike.
I harp always on the 'idea' of life as I dwell perpetually on the existence of the moment.
My work is getting stronger & stronger and more intense all the time. . . . I have such a rush of new energy & notions coming into my head, over my horizon like chariots of fire that all I want is freedom to step aside and execute them.
(I was) happily contended to be climbing the heights and the clouds by the brush method. . . . rendering the God-spirit in the mountains.
My work embodies little visions of the great intangible. . . . Some will say he's gone mad - others will look and say he's looked in at the lattices of Heaven and come back with the madness of splendor on him.