For most creators, I talk about poets as much as painters, everything happens as if there were not several parallel creations, invisible to each other, inconceivable for those who belong to one of them. But for the disinterested observer, there is an identity between these foreigners; For the speculator, a point where they meet.

This is where Picasso's work is located, at one of these crossroads of contradictions. It seems that between so many fragmentary universes his universe is total and that everyone can, depending on their luck and material, get lost or find their way around.
This universe of Picasso, it is above all Life. Never did the human species scream more triumphant and more loud against death. It is a universe in perpetual expansion and contraction on which our ideas change and complement each other as it completes itself and reveals itself to us in a new aspect.