Color is everything. When color is right, form is right.

Great art picks up where nature ends.

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.

To call everything that appears illogical, fantasy, fairy tale, or chimera would be practically to admit not understanding nature.

When I am finishing a picture, I hold some God-made object up to it - a rock, a flower, the branch of a tree or my hand - as a final test. If the painting stands up beside a thing man cannot make, the painting is authentic. If there's a clash between the two, it's bad art.

In our life there is a single color, as on an artist's palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.

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?