My Blood Is A Miracle That, From

Everyone's Opinions About Things Change Over Time. Nothing Is Constant. Everything Changes. And To Hold Onto Some Dogged Idea Forever Is A Little Rigid And Maybe Naive.

No Moon, Sun, Diamond, Hands — Fingertip, Dot, Ray, Gauze, Sea. Pine Green, Pink Glass, Eye, Mine, Eraser, Mud, Mother, I Am Coming.

My Paintings Are Well-painted, Not Nimbly But Patiently. My Painting Contains In It The Message Of Pain. I Think That At Least A Few People Are Interested In It. It's Not Revolutionary. Why Keep Wishing For It To Be Belligerent? I Can't. Painting Completed My Life. I Lost Three Children And A Series Of Other Things That Would Have Fulfilled My Horrible Life. My Painting Took The Place Of All Of This. I Think Work Is The Best.

They Thought I Was A Surrealist, But I Wasn't. I Never Painted Dreams. I Painted My Own Reality.

Take A Lover Who Looks At You Like Maybe You Are A Bourbon Biscuit.