I found my eyes fixed on the tragic countenance, mechanically trying to seek the sequence, the degradation of the colours that death had just imposed on the motionless face. Shades of blue, yellow, grey, and I don't know what… My automatic instinct was first to tremble at the shock of the colour.
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"I want the unobtainable. Other artists paint a bridge, a house, a boat… I want to paint the air that surrounds the bridge, the house, the boat – the beauty of the air in which these objects are locate…"
"I despise the opinion of the press and the so-called critics."
"I'm completely desperate. I don't know what to do anymore."
"I'm absolutely desperate. I'm going to throw in the towel."
"It's a trade I learned as a youth… when I was unhappy… Perhaps flowers are the reason why I am an artist."
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