Critic Asks: 'and What, Sir, Is The

I'm Never Finished With My Paintings; The Further I Get, The More I Seek The Impossible And The More Powerless I Feel.

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.

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.

What Can Be Said About A Man Who Is Interested In Nothing But His Painting? It's A Pity If A Man Can Only Interest Himself In One Thing. But I Can't Do Any Thing Else. I Have Only One Interest.

One Day Boudin Said To Me, 'learn To Draw Well And Appreciate The Sea, The Light, The Blue Sky.' I Took His Advice.