I am a painter of peasant life
Working hard all afternoon
I hope to make real progress this year
Not that people were bothering me for it
I’m in my studio
I continue to work
I begin with that
Etc.


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I’ve a portrait of myself
Wine-red, soft
In the morning
These big pictures
What does all that matter?
The cottage at dusk
Here, rainy and chilly
But full of atmosphere
I care a little for the world
And that is how it all came about




I am poor—but I am no seducer
The world, however, does not reason like that
It strikes me that any man worth his salt
Would be mad
To sit still and do nothing
Something lofty, genuine, something distinguished
Little green landscapes
A summer sun, anyway




I was very struck by something he said
“Stay in the countryside”
You will see that for yourself
After the period of melancholy
My bony carcass is so full of energy
I’ve been worried about not being able to fall asleep
You mention a canvas
I think I’ll begin




There are more than 30 empty rooms
I should say, at last!
Some very elegant watercolour landscapes
This is roughly the way I actually see things
And now, all joking aside
I am no longer in those surroundings
Wandering from pillar to post
Working very hard on the Panorama
I am beginning to see more and more
Well, goodbye
And, my goodness




I have already lit my small stove
How beautiful those old almshouses are
Although they are mere scribbles
That thought, I can’t find the right words
Believe me, I just wish there were more
I imagine that no matter what
Life is flat
Oh well, it will come




I am not very keen on going back
The civilized world
Those who think seriously about art
Would go on being cold and finding fault
So you must picture
Delicate, soft green, miles and miles
Beyond the bounds of possibility
I want to give up even the verbal struggle
I am telling you this
In a corner somewhere
I am no better than the next man
You may perhaps remember that




I have read the Bible
These days I think Jesus himself would say
There used to be such lofty ideals
In our natural development
Today I am in the middle
So this is pretty bad news




Admitting that I am a sort of dog
Exercising patience
I can scarcely comprehend myself
That enables one to draw
Meadows and clouds




Allow me to tell you
Yesterday evening
I came home from the woods
When it was just starting to get light
Constantly moving and glittering
Oh yes, all that is perfectly true
I shall say no more about it