There is nothing that special to see when looking at me.

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

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

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

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.

There is no self-portrait of me.

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.