I shouldn’t have learned the names of the colors. Every painter has certainly had this thought more than once. We see green, green, green, green, green, everything is green, a single word for greens that are all different.
No matter how much we focus our gaze, multiply the names of the colors, green, yellow, yellow, green, blue, green, orange, blue, yellow, green, yellow, blue, yellow, orange, brown, green, green, yellow: even if we try to list them more precisely, to articulate them more clearly, the world we see remains unspeakable.
Nevertheless: words are useful when looking for paintings with the same name. Quick, get me some green paint, green paint, yellow paint. That is why, Master Gauguin, we cannot answer your question “How do you see this?” with words. If we could, why not do it in a painting? We would then realize that the words are linked to each color in the painting. But this, Master, you probably already know. So, the question is rather: “Which colors could replace what you see?”
A painting is a flat, even surface, composed of the colors on it. What we see can in no way be purely and simply transferred to the canvas. Colors are the words of the painter. Through them, he or she can say what everyone is seeing for the first time. And what the painter sees is the surface covered by these colors.
That’s why I shouldn’t have bought the colors (I should have made the pigments myself). But don’t you think it’s beautiful to see the landscape emerging when you assemble colors on a canvas?

References
Paul Gauguin, Landscape in Pont Aven, 1888
Collection Niarchos

Paul Gauguin, Hello Mr. Gauguin, 1889
Hammer Museum, Los Angeles