If I Think, Everything Is Lost.

Shut Your Eyes, Wait, Think Of Nothing. Now, Open Them ... One Sees Nothing But A Great Coloured Undulation. What Then? An Irradiation And Glory Of Colour. This Is What A Picture Should Give Us ... An Abyss In Which The Eye Is Lost, A Secret Germination, A Coloured State Of Grace ... Loose Conciousness. Descend With The Painter Into The Dim Tangled Roots Of Things, And Rise Again From Them In Colours, Be Steeped In The Light Of Them.

My Age And Health Will Never Allow Me To Realize The Dream Of Art I've Been Pursuing All My Life.

I Am Still Searching For The Expression Of Those Confused Sensations That We Bring With Us At Birth.

I Ask You To Pray For Me, For Once Age Has Overtaken Us, We Find Consolation Only In Religion.

I Allow No One To Touch Me.