"The smells of linseed oil and turpentine were stirring my blood, like those of moist earth or horse dung. I had lighted my pipe. I still needed some aroma. I made coffee. In short, all the conditions proper for a good day's work. Result: I never applied one stroke of color. My drawing wasn't worth two pins. I had believed myself to be filled with inspiration, but inspiration, as it came out of me, went up in smoke." Influenced by Jean Dutourd's Pluche or the Love of Art.