I remember the experience of houses, village, cities, and landscapes, about which I now say they lent me an impression of beauty. Did these situations also seem beautiful to me at the time? I think so, but I’m not quite sure. The impression came first, I suppose, and reflection followed. And I know that certain things were not invested with beauty that others have experienced. I assimilate the impression it has made on them if I am able to create an image in my mind of the beauty others tell me about. Beauty always appears to me in setting, in clearly delimited pieces of reality, object-like or in the manner of a still life or like a self-contained scene, composed to perfection without the least trace of effort or artificiality. Everything is as it should be ; everything is in its place. Nothing jars, no overstated arrangement, no meaning. The experience is unintentional. What I see is the thing itself. It captivates me. The picture that I see has the effect of a composition that appears extremely natural to me and at the same time extremely artful in its naturalness.