My blood is a miracle that, from my veins, crosses the air in my heart into yours.
Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.
The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to.
They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn't. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.
Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?
I must fight with all my strength so that the little positive things that my health allows me to do might be pointed toward helping the revolution. The only real reason for living.