The trees of his landscapes did not lack one leaf. That’s one of the reasons it made me scream with boredom. I considered them paintings for lethargic bourgeois afternoons. At that time what I wanted was brute force, dynamite in a tube, heroines in linseed oil, anarchy of the paintbrushes. Certainly not paintings of utter convention…
Until last night when, in the dust of my studio as I thumbed through old art books, I came upon this painting. And there I stayed, gaga.
The technique of Corot was dazzling, of course. But it was the economy of means that he used, it was practically “zen”. 
A little blue, white and dark green. That’s all. And everything came to life, as if by magic. The water of the river rushed by… I thought I was dreaming, so perfect was the illusion, so simply did the story come straight from the heart.
I rushed to send a copy of this masterpiece to my friends at le Mouching.
Cyril was the first to respond: “are there any bonefish in the river?”
The response of Jerome followed: “I don’t see anything rising. Is the river in the Ardeche?”
And a couple of minutes later Laurent: “ Should use a rod in plexiglas, number five silk!”
What can I say, I simply went to my bedroom, locked the door tight and polished off a bottle of Chivas Regal before dawn.