... There Is A Skeleton (or Death)

I Have Never Expected Anything From My Work But The Satisfaction I Could Get From It By The Very Fact Of Painting And Saying What I Couldn't Say Otherwise.

I Never Paint Dreams Or Nightmares. I Paint My Own Reality.

I Wish I Could Do Whatever I Liked Behind The Curtain Of “madness”. Then: I’d Arrange Flowers, All Day Long, I’d Paint; Pain, Love And Tenderness, I Would Laugh As Much As I Feel Like At The Stupidity Of Others, And They Would All Say: “poor Thing, She’s Crazy!” (above All I Would Laugh At My Own Stupidity.) I Would Build My World Which While I Lived, Would Be In Agreement With All The Worlds. The Day, Or The Hour, Or The Minute That I Lived Would Be Mine And Everyone Else’s - My Madness Would Not Be An Escape From “reality”.

Surrealism Is The Magical Surprise Of Finding A Lion In A Wardrobe, Where You Were 'sure' Of Finding Shirts.

I Paint Flowers So They Will Not Die.