Think Of Me Getting Up Before 6,

No One But Myself Knows The Anxiety I Go Through And The Trouble I Give Myself To Finish Paintings Which Do Not Satisfy Me And Seem To Please So Very Few Others.

I Am Following Nature Without Being Able To Grasp Her, I Perhaps Owe Having Become A Painter To Flowers.

Never, Even As A Child, Would I Bend To A Rule.

If Only The Weather Would Improve, There'd Be Hope Of Some Work, But Every Day Brings Rain.

Think Of Me Getting Up Before 6, I'm At Work By 7 And I Continue Until 6.30 In The Evening, Standing Up All The Time, Nine Canvases. It's Murderous.