... there is a skeleton (or death) that flees terrified in the face of my will to live.
I love you more than my own skin.
My painting carries with it the message of pain.
Surrealism is the magical surprise of finding a lion in a wardrobe, where you were 'sure' of finding shirts.
I love you more than my own skin and even though you don’t love me the same way, you love me anyways, don’t you? And if you don’t, I’ll always have the hope that you do, and i’m satisfied with that. Love me a little. I adore you.
I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint.