All I did was to look at what the universe showed me, to let my brush bear witness to it.

The only merit I have is to have painted directly from nature with the aim of conveying my impressions in front of the most fugitive effects.

My only desire is an intimate infusion with nature, and the only fate I wish is to have worked and lived in harmony with her laws.

I have made tremendous efforts to work in a darker register and express the sinister and tragic quality of the place, given my natural tendency to work in light and pale tones.

For almost two months now I've been struggling away with no result.

For me, the subject is of secondary importance: I want to convey what is alive between me and the subject.

Colors pursue me like a constant worry. They even worry me in my sleep.