There's something about black. You feel hidden away in it.
If one could only reproduce nature, and always with less beauty than the original, why paint at all?
I'd been taught to paint like other people, and I thought, what's the use? I couldn't do any better than they, or even as well. I was just adding to the brushpile. So I quit.
I'm frightened all the time. But I never let it stop me. Never!
Fill a space in a beautiful way.
I often lay on that bench looking up into the tree, past the trunk and up into the branches. It was particularly fine at night with the stars above the tree.