I Work At My Garden All The

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.

Colors Pursue Me Like A Constant Worry. They Even Worry Me In My Sleep.

It's On The Strength Of Observation And Reflection That One Finds A Way. So We Must Dig And Delve Unceasingly.

I Am Enslaved To My Work, Always Wanting The Impossible, And Never, I Believe, Have I Been Less Favoured By The Endlessly Changeable Weather.

My Work Is Always Better When I Am Alone And Follow My Own Impressions.