I must have been about ten. Easter vacation was over and we had
left the countryside to return to our Parisian flat. I slowly opened
the door to my room and the door to the balcony looking out on the
garden. Then the emotion overcame me! At my feet lay the horse
chestnut trees, green all over, shining, shaking in the wind.
I was overwhelmed by this sight, the innumerable green and yellow
spots, all shiver in the light. I believe that then and there my
vocation as a painter was born.
In later years, I constantly found inspiration in the ever present
variations of Nature. Rambling over the countryside, I planted my
easel by the side of roads and tracks: in the summertime, looking over
the huge wheat fields which undulate like a sea, in wintertime under
the leaden skies which come before snow, in the fall observing the
rust and yellow harmonies which ever seem to naturally impose
themselves on me. Witnessing the numerous and unceasing
transformations of the universe, I was filled with an interior joy,
fascinated, naive my senses alive.
I do not care for flat and uniform surfaces. My search is for tints,
which through their superposition create a feeling of life, a
differentiated tumult. A painting, which is in essence a proportion
between shapes and colors, must, in order to fully impose its strength
and vigor, be dominated by a major harmony.
Paradoxical though the following statement may be, it could be said
that the fewer the colors, the better the painting. The multitude of
small color spots, pigmentation, dots, commas and shade-offs must not
diminish the whole. One must learn to limit the harmonies on one's
palette in order to express oneself with strength. But above all,
painting for me is the rendering of the thrill which was felt at the