Zaandam Has Enough To Paint For A

My Garden Is A Slow Work, Pursued With Love And I Do Not Deny That I Am Proud Of It. Forty Years Ago, When I Established Myself Here, There Was Nothing But A Farmhouse And A Poor Orchard...i Bought The House And Little By Little I Enlarged And Organized It...i Dug, Planted Weeded, Myself; In The Evenings The Children Watered.

What I Need Most Of All Is Color, Always, Always.

Color Is My Day-long Obsession, Joy And Torment. To Such An Extent Indeed That One Day, Finding Myself At The Deathbed Of A Woman Who Had Been And Still Was Very Dear To Me, I Caught Myself In The Act Of Focusing On Her Temples And Automatically Analyzing The Succession Of Appropriately Graded Colors Which Death Was Imposing On Her Motionless Face.

I'm Knocked Out, I've Never Felt So Physically And Mentally Exhausted, I'm Quite Stupid With It And Long Only For Bed; But I Am Happy.

These Landscapes Of Water And Reflections Have Become An Obsession. It's Quite Beyond My Powers At My Age, And Yet I Want To Succeed In Expressing What I Feel.