For Me, A Landscape Does Not Exist

It's The Hardest Thing To Be Alone In Being Satisfied With What One's Done.

I Perhaps Owe Having Become A Painter To Flowers.

Think Of Me Getting Up Before 6, I'm At Work By 7 And I Continue Until 6.30 In The Evening, Standing Up All The Time, Nine Canvases. It's Murderous.

I'm Quite Content: Although What I'm Doing Is Far From Being As I Should Like, I Am Complemented Often Enough All The Same.

I've Only Myself To Blame For It, My Impotence Most Of All And My Weakness. If I Do Any Good Work Now It Will Be Only By Chance.