One fine day as my mother was putting the bread in the oven, I went up to her and taking her by her flour-smeared elbow I said to her, Mama I want to be a painter.

Will God or someone give me the power to breathe my sigh into my canvases, the sigh of prayer and sadness, the prayer of salvation, of rebirth?

One fine day as my mother was putting the bread in the oven, I went up to her and taking her by her flour-smeared elbow I said to her, Mama I want to be a painter.

Everything in art must spring from the movement of our whole life-stream, of our whole being - including the unconscious.

Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things that revolve around love.

Mine alone is the country of my soul.

Love and fantasy, go hand in hand.