«When I met William Congdon in Paris, what most struck me about him was the gentleness of a strange depth, an absolutely disarming candor, a vulnerability in the face of all his spiritual pains and not just those coming from the anguish of this world and from the beauty that scourges our senses, but also from the pains of other-worldly levels. With him, like with Rouault… I saw that surprising resemblance between the man and his work that is a feature of genuinely great artists.»
