All The Theories Mess You Up Inside.

Art First Of All Is Optical. That's Where The Material Of Our Art Is: In What Our Eyes Think.

The Clear French Landscape Is As Pure As A Verse Of Racine.

I Must Be More Sensible And Realize That At My Age, Illusions Are Hardly Permitted And They Will Always Destroy Me.

The Landscape Becomes Human, Becomes A Thinking, Living Being Within Me. I Become One With My Picture...we Merge In An Iridescent Chaos.

The World Doesn't Understand Me And I Don't Understand The World, That's Why I've Withdrawn From It.