I Paint As If I Were Rothschild.

There Is A Logic Of Colors, And It Is With This Alone, And Not With The Logic Of The Brain, That The Painter Should Conform.

I Have Not Tried To Reproduce Nature; I Have Represented It.

Fruits ... Like Having Their Portrait Painted. They Seem To Sit There And Ask Your Forgiveness For Fading. Their Thought Is Given Off With Their Perfumes. They Come With All Their Scents, They Speak Of The Fields They Have Left, The Rain Which Has Nourished Them, The Daybreaks They Have Seen.

We Live In A Rainbow Of Chaos.

Here, On The River's Verge, I Could Be Busy For Months Without Changing My Place, Simply Leaning A Little More To Right Or Left.