There is nothing that special to see when looking at me. I’m a painter who paints day in day out, from morning till evening – figure pictures and landscapes, more rarely portraits.

Sometimes I miss out the morning’s painting session and instead study my Japanese books in the open.

If the weather is good I go into the nearby wood – there I am painting a small beech forest (in the sun) with a few conifers mixed in. This takes until 8 ‘o clock.

After tea it’s back to painting – a large poplar at dusk with a gathering storm. From time to time instead of this evening painting session I go bowling in one of the neighbouring villages, but not very often.

All art is erotic.

True relaxation, which would do me the world of good, does not exist for me.

Even when I have to write a simple letter I’m scared stiff as if faced with looming seasickness.

There is nothing that special to see when looking at me. I’m a painter who paints day in day out, from morning till evening – figure pictures and landscapes, more rarely portraits.

I can paint and draw. I believe this myself and a few other people say that they believe this too. But I’m not certain of whether it’s true.

There is no self-portrait of me.

Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognise what I am and what I want.

On my first days here I did not start work immediately but, as planned, I took it easy for a few days – flicked through books, studied Japanese art a little.

Although even when I am being idle I have plenty of food for thought both early and late – thoughts both about and not about art.