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

At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.

I have never expected anything from my work but the satisfaction I could get from it by the very fact of painting and saying what I couldn't say otherwise.

I think that little by little I'll be able to solve my problems and survive.

My paintings are well-painted, not nimbly but patiently. My painting contains in it the message of pain. I think that at least a few people are interested in it. It's not revolutionary. Why keep wishing for it to be belligerent? I can't. Painting completed my life. I lost three children and a series of other things that would have fulfilled my horrible life. My painting took the place of all of this. I think work is the best.

Can one invent verbs? I want to tell you one: I sky you, so my wings extend so large to love you without measure.

My painting carries with it the message of pain.