Friday, 12 August 1881

You perhaps think I have decided something! I can do nothing! I have the dreadful certainty of my own incapacity! Breslau's paintings pass before my eyes and I can undertake nothing! It has been more than a month, counting the time lost in travelling, that I have done nothing! I cannot even imagine myself working — I am horrified in advance at the talentless, dry, cold things I shall produce.
It is odious — I can do nothing!
Well then, I work at it — barely two hours — and then: give it up! The question is this: suppose I abandon it, and then I say to myself: who knows? Perhaps it would have been very good. So I decide to go on, and immediately I tell myself: it is pretentious and says nothing.
In short, the truth is that I am probably ill. No — but astray, dizzy, stunned as a painter.
So I go to see Amanda (!) — who is working in the courtyard of her house at Issy! It does me good, even though she is not artist enough to wind me up fully again — no matter, it revives me, and I come home resolved to do this confounded painting.