'One would have to be very blind not to see them, these forefathers who roam around his bronzes. Take the Centaure for example. Take this masterpiece of equestrian sculpture, a miniature version of which we have here [in France] in Sete. We think, says Restany, of Marcus Aureleus of the Capitole, of Donnatello’s Gattemalata, on the Piazza del Santo in Padua. We dream of Verrocchio’s Colleone in Venice. We dream of the great antique exemplars or of those of the Renaissance. Without forgetting, of course, of Picasso who is the dedicator and is the shadow, in truth, which has haunted César from his beginnings. Bless you César! You would think he was here, between Saint Paul and the Fouquet’s. You imagine him as a peer to Arman or to Tinguely, of Pages or Christo. You imagine him engaged in obscure rivalries or conflicts without glory. All the while that he is there, in reality. He has this other life – the real one – which revolves around other stars, in other galaxies'
(B. Lévy, César – Les Bronzes, exh. cat., Musée Paul Valéry, Paris, 1991, p. 9).