The language of art is celestial in origin and can only be understood by the chosen.

I suffer for my art and despise the witless moneyed scoundrels who praise it.

The language of art is celestial in origin and can only be understood by the chosen.

Art is everywhere you look for it, hail the twinkling stars for they are God's careless splatters

I paint because the spirits whisper madly inside my head.