I paint my own reality.
Mankind owns its destiny, and its destiny is the earth. We are destroying it until we have no destiny.
I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint.
To trap one's self-suffering is to risk being devoured from the inside.
The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to.
What would I do without the absurd and the ephemeral?