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He painted the flower: he discovered it.
Amazed to the point of anxiety by the shades of the flower, astonished to the point of a most naïve adoration of its form, he was soon struck by the revelation that nothing is more mysterious than nature itself, and from that moment he became absorbed in its clarity just as he had plumbed the deep recesses of his imagination. He painted flowers exactly as we know them and just as we see them: geraniums amongst velvety leaves, marguerites, quivering clumps of acacia, orange wallflowers and nasturtiums, and with their slender stems bursting forth, their dazzling corollas fixed, and their sparkling nuances of colour suspended in time, it seemed as if these flowers had just appeared before our very eyes, through a miracle. When we look at them, we too emerge from the shadows.