The Point Is To Know How To

I've Spent So Long On Some Paintings That I No Longer Know What To Think Of Them, And I Am Definitely Getting Harder To Please; Nothing Satisfies Me.

I Know Well Enough In Advance That You'll Find My Paintings Perfect. I Know That If They Are Exhibited They'll Be A Great Success, But I Couldn't Be More Indifferent To It Since I Know They Are Bad, I'm Certain Of It.

You'll Understand, I'm Sure That I'm Chasing The Merest Sliver Of Color. It's My Own Fault. I Want To Grasp The Intangible. It's Terrible How The Light Runs Out. Color, Any Color, Lasts A Second, Sometimes 3 Or 4 Minutes At Most.

I Want To Paint The Air In Which The Bridge, The House And The Boat Are To Be Found - The Beauty Of The Air Around Them, And That Is Nothing Less Than The Impossible.

Work Is Nearly Always A Torture. If I Could Find Something Else I Would Be Much Happier, Because I Could Use This Other Interest As A Form Of Relaxation. Now I Cannot Relax.