I painted from memory... the impressions of my childhood.
I painted the lines and colours that affected my inner eye... from memory without adding anything.
One night I was walking along a lane, on one side stood the town and underneath the Fjord, I was tired and sick. I stopped to look beyond the fjord — the sun was getting down — the clouds were tinged with a blood-red, I heard a cry to cross Nature: I almost thought of hearing it. I painted this picture, I painted the clouds like true blood. Colours were crying
Without fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.
