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 had so much fire in me and so many plans.
For me, the subject is of secondary importance: I want to convey what is alive between me and the subject.
Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.
I'm not performing miracles, I'm using up and wasting a lot of paint.
Nature won't be summoned to order and won't be kept waiting. It must be caught, well caught.
These landscapes of water and reflection have become an obsession.
I know that to paint the sea really well, you need to look at it every hour of every day in the same place so that you can understand its way in that particular spot; and that is why I am working on the same motifs over and over again, four or six times even.
I didn't become an impressionist. As long as I can remember I always have been one.
I'm enjoying the most perfect tranquillity, free from all worries, and in consequence would like to stay this way forever, in a peaceful corner of the countryside like this.
Now I really feel the landscape, I can be bold and include every tone of pink and blue: it's enchanting, it's delicious, and I hope it will please you.
My garden is a slow work, pursued with love and I do not deny that I am proud of it. Forty years ago, when I established myself here, there was nothing but a farmhouse and a poor orchard...I bought the house and little by little I enlarged and organized it...I dug, planted weeded, myself; in the evenings the children watered.
When I work I forget all the rest.
My eyes were finally opened and I understood nature. I learned at the same time to love it.
I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.
I am good at only two things, and those are gardening and painting.
My work is always better when I am alone and follow my own impressions.
You'll understand, I'm sure that I'm chasing the merest sliver of color. It's my own fault. I want to grasp the intangible. It's terrible how the light runs out. Color, any color, lasts a second, sometimes 3 or 4 minutes at most.
One can do something if one can see and understand it.
Take clear water with grass waving at the bottom. It's wonderful to look at, but to try to paint it is enough to make one insane.
All of a sudden I had the revelation of how enchanting my pond was.
Never, even as a child, would I bend to a rule.
My life has been nothing but a failure.
Without the fog, London would not be a beautiful city. It is fog that gives it its magnificent amplitude...its regular and massive blocks become grandiose in that mysterious mantle.
It's the hardest thing to be alone in being satisfied with what one's done.
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