A work of art comes only from inside a human being.
Photography is an art which touches and grips one's own heart's blood.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.
Colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas.
I do not believe in the art which is not the compulsive result of man's urge to open his heart