The Awareness Of Our Own Strength Makes

Fruits ... Like Having Their Portrait Painted. They Seem To Sit There And Ask Your Forgiveness For Fading. Their Thought Is Given Off With Their Perfumes. They Come With All Their Scents, They Speak Of The Fields They Have Left, The Rain Which Has Nourished Them, The Daybreaks They Have Seen.

I Cannot Attain The Intensity That Is Unfolded Before My Senses. I Have Not The Magnificent Richness Of Colouring That Animates Nature.

The Landscape Becomes Human, Becomes A Thinking, Living Being Within Me. I Become One With My Picture...we Merge In An Iridescent Chaos.

When I Start Thinking, All Is Lost.

Shadow Is A Colour As Light Is, But Less Brilliant; Light And Shadow Are Only The Relation Of Two Tones.