When I am painting leisurely in pleasant weather, my own thoughts suddenly enter my descriptions. Most of the time, I notice the foreign object, but more often than not, in order to process the foreign object, I end up describing it only for my own sake. I know that the destination is despair, because I have been there many times. But I’ve been there again. I’m stuck with it for a few hours. I don’t destroy the canvas anymore, but I erase what I have painted. It took me about three years to realize that it was my thoughts that were the cause, but it still comes back from time to time.