The Invisible Pictures

“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!…”