I Still Don't Know Where I Am

I Would Like To Paint The Way A Bird Sings.

I Can No Longer Work Outside Because Of The Intensity Of The Light.

I've Only Myself To Blame For It, My Impotence Most Of All And My Weakness. If I Do Any Good Work Now It Will Be Only By Chance.

I Haven't Many Years Left Ahead Of Me And I Must Devote All My Time To Painting, In The Hope Of Achieving Something Worthwhile In The End, Something If Possible That Will Satisfy Me.

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.