We Live In A Rainbow Of Chaos.

My Nervous System Is Enfeebled, Only Work In Oils Can Sustain Me.

The Landscape Becomes Human, Becomes A Thinking, Living Being Within Me. I Become One With My Picture...we Merge In An Iridescent Chaos.

If Isolation Tempers The Strong, It Is The Stumbling-block Of The Uncertain.

The Clear French Landscape Is As Pure As A Verse Of Racine.

When I Start Thinking, All Is Lost.