Art is an abstraction; unfortunately we’re becoming increasingly misunderstood. I would very much like it if we were to achieve our aims, that is, my coming to Provence. I’ve always had an itch to interpret bullfights in my own way, as I understand them. I’m beginning to recover the full use of my faculties: my illness had weakened me, and in my most recent studies I have, I think, gone beyond what I’ve been doing up to now. Of course, the collection of boors around here think I’m completely mad and I’m happy about that, because it proves to me that I’m not. I’ve just finished a  1v:2 Breton wrestling that I’m sure you’ll like.

A green lawn – pure Veronese shading off into chrome yellow with no execution, like Japanese prints.

At the top a cascade of foaming water,  1v:3 white pink, and a rainbow on the edge near the frame.

At the bottom a white patch, a black hat and blue smock.1

So who is this Thomas you speak of, is it Thomas de Bojano? Unless it’s the dealer who used to be near place Vendôme.4

My friend Laval is back from Martinique; he brought some very curious watercolours.5 I’ll have you look at some that you’ll like, they’re art. I’m talking as if we were already together. I have to tell you that once I’ve  1r:4 taken a decision I’m always in haste to carry it out.

If it weren’t for this damned money, my bags would soon be packed. I don’t know why, but for the past ten days or so I have lots of painted follies in my head which I plan to execute in the south: I think it has to do with my state of health, which is blooming again. It’s as if I have a need to struggle, to hack away with crushing blows — after all the research I’ve done here I think I can easily forge ahead.

Until we’re together, an affectionate handshake.