They Thought I Was A Surrealist, But

The Only Thing I Know Is That I Paint Because I Need To, And I Paint Whatever Passes Through My Head Without Any Other Consideration.

I Paint Self-portraits Because I Am So Often Alone, Because I Am The Person I Know Best.

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”.

Nothing Is Absolute. Everything Changes, Everything Moves, Everything Revolves, Everything Flies And Goes Away.

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