I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.

I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint.

Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?

No moon, sun, diamond, hands — fingertip, dot, ray, gauze, sea. pine green, pink glass, eye, mine, eraser, mud, mother, I am coming.

I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.

I paint flowers to prevent them from dying

To feel the anguish of waiting for the next moment and of taking part in the complex current (of affairs) not knowing that we are headed toward ourselves, through millions of stone beings - of bird beings - of star beings - of microbe beings - of fountain beings toward ourselves.