Everything Is About To Disappear.

A Puny Body Weakens The Soul.

I Advance All Of My Canvas At One Time.

I Am Progressing Very Slowly, For Nature Reveals Herself To Me In Very Complex Forms; And The Progress Needed Is Incessant.

Under This Fine Rain I Breathe In The Innocence Of The World. I Feel Coloured By The Nuances Of Infinity. At This Moment I Am One With My Picture. We Are An Iridescent Chaos.

Literature Expresses Itself By Abstractions, Whereas Painting, By Means Of Drawing And Colour, Gives Concrete Shape To Sensations And Perceptions.