I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

People discuss my art and pretend to understand as if it were necessary to understand, when it’s simply necessary to love.

My life has been nothing but a failure.

Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.

Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

No one is an artist unless he carries his picture in his head before painting it, and is sure of his method and composition.