Confiding Confidentially

"The painter takes colour to spread it out on a canvas. On his palette the colour is crude, but in his mind it is clear. The brush composes arabesques or figures and the painter composes his painting. The landscape is in his eye and the colour is in his mind.
The eye and the mind : all is merged on his palette, yet all becomes clear on his canvas. A corner of the sky is in his eye, a section of a wall is in his mind. And these women whom he places at the window, on the doorstep or at the corner of a street, where has he caught a glimpse of them ?
Women here and doors there. Dazzling sunlight from over there and a brush that he promenades just here. Where do all of these images come from, that the painter bears in his mind, in himself, now released for us, now released from his mind, taken at the end of his brush in full liberty, to be placed at last on his canvas, where we shall find them as we love to see them again.
But where have we lost them ?
Images in promenade at the thread of

(Suite)