“A strange thing! Every time my feelings flare up with special force and they just beg to get out—it's as if someone would tie both my hands and my tongue! I can’t convey, I can’t put into words what’s in my heart! And yet I’m an artist; I see it myself, and I hear it from others, from everyone who has only ever seen my drawings and sketches. I’m poor and I live in a narrow alley. As for light, I do have plenty: my room is right at the top, and I have a view of all the neighboring rooftops. In the first days after moving to the city I felt uneasy: cramped, boring—no forest or green hills on the horizon, only sooty chimneys. No familiar faces, no friendly, welcoming countenance!…”