No One Is An Artist Unless He

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

It Was At Home I Learned The Little I Know. Schools Always Appeared To Me Like A Prison, And Never Could I Make Up My Mind To Stay There, Not Even For Four Hours A Day, When The Sunshine Was Inviting, The Sea Smooth, And When It Was Joy To Run About The Cliffs In The Free Air, Or To Paddle In The Water.

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

Critic Asks: 'and What, Sir, Is The Subject Matter Of That Painting?' - 'the Subject Matter, My Dear Good Fellow, Is The Light.

I Think Only Of My Painting, And If I Were To Drop It, I Think I'd Go Crazy.