Iris

The last stroke is always unnecessary. The rule is simple: as soon as your hand reaches out to "adjust it just a little," it's time to wash your brushes.

Three brushes for everything. No more is needed: a set of twenty is bought to delay the start.

I work only in daylight from the window. The lamp lies: under it, the yellow seems warm, but on the table it's dirty.

I never start with the outline. The darkest spot comes first—from there you can see how much light remains.

In watercolor, water is more important than paint. Cloudy water and half the colors turn gray, no matter how hard you try.

I paint from live flowers, not from photographs. The photograph has already decided for me where the light is, but from life, you decide.

The most honest stage of the work. Here you can still see where I changed my mind, but you won't find this in the finished painting.