In his room he bides, arms crossed, quite still before flick of brush or scumble; for the mind's commotions mustn't chill while fingers fumble. Like the harvesters who stack his straw, like the peasants in the wain, like his cowman - I'm more than a little in awe of the Master of Het Steen. ( for the last five years of his life Peter Paul Rubens was in residence here) - sketch and detailed watercolour
It looks an eerie place, Toulouse. I like the way it is silhouetted here against that dark blue.
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