If at this point the author speaks of his own and his wife's work, placing them in the most favourable light, so to speak, then one mustn't hold this against him, especially as I know of no one here who could write about us competently. We make use of our right to advertise ourselves, for our work is not so weak or banal that it would deserve to be completely forgotten.
As far as my own painting is concerned, which for the past two years I have only been able to practice on the side, I can admit without exaggeration that I have not been lazy in this period. On the contrary, I have exercised my hands and my mind as much as possible. And even if our work has become a purely private matter, one doesn't lose one's demons so easily. We continue to work undaunted, for the sake of the matter itself, with a boundless melancholy that seems to have been lost in the dusk. The gift of feeling impelled to create is no less compelling in maturity than in youth. Indeed, you can enjoy your work more as an older person than in those years when desire is greater than skill and work was nothing but an embittered, painful struggle.
The battles fought on Else Meidner's canvasses are no less wild and passionate, but not at all painful. At thirty-six, she is a painter of the highest quality. A broad, nervous brushstroke covers the canvas with lush colours. No matter what subject she chooses, all she ever really paints is light and space, in a warm, rich palette. Her works are not hearty fare for the masses, but rather a delicacy for connoisseurs. Few paintings these days are as dense or fine as hers. If you find this praise exaggerated, just look at the pictures. She occasionally has trouble constructing her figures. Her drawing skills are almost even more surprising. Her drawings are completely different from those of other talented women. Else Meidner does not show off her prowess and is completely naive. Her drawings are secure, strong and full of tension. She knows how to breathe life into her material in the most wonderful manner.

from: Ludwig Meidner, Jüdische Maler in Köln (Jewish Painters in Cologne), in: C.V.-Zeitung, 6.1.1938, Nr. 1, 2. Beiblatt

One Sunday afternoon, at the beginning of the disagreeable season, some friends came to visit us, a cultivated couple, distantly related to us, i.e., not very closely, just a bit, through Adam and Eve. They love art, as they repeat loudly on every occasion, but we always receive them with suspicion and rather insincere warmth. [...] soon "Auntie" began droning on about painting in Berlin, the masterpieces of Professors Knille and N. Sichel, and about how Lehnbach managed to get eyes to shine. In all his portraits, the people have flashing eagle's eyes, an imperious aquiline nose, a noble mouth and an exceedingly aristocratic posture. "Yes", she exclaimed heatedly, "that was still art, like Titian, like Makart, not the kind of silly nonsense you have on your walls here. The noses are misshapen and misplaced!" "Oh really, misshapen?" my wife then angrily interjected, "You aren't so different! Take a good look at yourself! How could one paint your eyes aristocratic and full of fire, when they're actually dull and leeched out like a dead carp's. Your Lehnbach's gleaming eyes are just a trick. It's a lot harder to show things exactly as they are." And my wife said much more that was very true; she worked herself into a state of noble indignation and looked like a young Amazon, so that I felt impelled to rush over to her and quickly plant a kiss on her little mouth.

from: Ludwig Meidner, Besuch der Kunstfreunde(The Art Lovers' Visit), in: Berliner Tageblatt, 22.10.1931

Back when I used only to draw and paint, no activity on earth seemed more important to me than drawing and painting. Since I have been blessed with this divine gift, I know of nothing more joyful, nothing that fulfils your whole being more than a heartfelt prayer. Drawing and painting used to be the sole purpose of my days. Now that I pray, I am absolutely certain that praying alone has meaning and that everything else-even drawing and painting-is no more than a questionable way to pass the time.

from: Ludwig Meidner, Von wahrer Kunst (On True Art), in: Künstlerbekenntnisse. Briefe / Tagebuchblätter / Betrachtungen heutiger Künstler, ed. by Paul Westheim, Berlin n.d. [1925], pp. 255-257.

If you want to draw, you'll need to be cheerful, spirited and lively. Embrace the world!
Fear not the blank white paper! Be bold! The world may be wild, the uncertainty terrible, but it is in your mind and your impassioned will to create a new world, a purer, tamer world--one closer to God than the chaotic, confusing one around you.
Those of us who draw in these times--these flickering, enigmatic days--are not inflamed by formalistic tendencies or preconceived conventional notions. It is rather the world around us which animates us. We are propelled along a magical current and, with frenzied fingers and minds aflame, we scratch and burrow our inner selves into stone, metal, wood and paper. Our exuberance embraces the wonders of humble life as surely as the delicate, inner images that God breathes into our souls, modern wildness and bizarre novelty as well as boulders, clouds and the crescent moon. In contrast to the Impressionist fools cavorting in herb gardens and chasing honour, we are flame and fire. We are not romantically distracted and unbridled, but rather full of rigour and melody.

from: Ludwig Meidner, Vom Zeichnen (On Drawing), in: Das Kunstblatt 1, 1917, pp. 97-101.