It Seems To Me That When I

The Older I Become The More I Realize Of That I Have To Work Very Hard To Reproduce What I Search: The Instantaneous. The Influence Of The Atmosphere On The Things And The Light Scattered Throughout.

Listening Only To My Instincts, I Discovered Superb Things.

All Of A Sudden I Had The Revelation Of How Enchanting My Pond Was.

What Is It That's Taken Hold Of Me, For Me To Carry On Like This In Relentless Pursuit Of Something Beyond My Powers?

I Am Enslaved To My Work, Always Wanting The Impossible, And Never, I Believe, Have I Been Less Favoured By The Endlessly Changeable Weather.