I Don’t Think I’m Made For Any

The Point Is To Know How To Use The Colours, The Choice Of Which Is, When All's Said And Done, A Matter Of Habit.

Color Is My Day-long Obsession, Joy And Torment. To Such An Extent Indeed That One Day, Finding Myself At The Deathbed Of A Woman Who Had Been And Still Was Very Dear To Me, I Caught Myself In The Act Of Focusing On Her Temples And Automatically Analyzing The Succession Of Appropriately Graded Colors Which Death Was Imposing On Her Motionless Face.

The Only Merit I Have Is To Have Painted Directly From Nature With The Aim Of Conveying My Impressions In Front Of The Most Fugitive Effects.

Getting Up At 4 In The Morning, I Slave Away All Day Until By The Evening I'm Exhausted, And I End By Forgetting All My Responsibilities, Thinking Only Of The Work I've Set Out To Do.

I've Spent So Long On Some Paintings That I No Longer Know What To Think Of Them, And I Am Definitely Getting Harder To Please; Nothing Satisfies Me.