Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are a bourbon biscuit.

I paint flowers to prevent them from dying

I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better.

I don’t like the gringos at all. They are very boring and all have faces like unbaked rolls.

My painting carries with it the message of pain.

You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are a bourbon biscuit.