When I Paint A Person, His Enemies

My Art Is Rooted In A Single Reflection: Why Am I Not As Others Are? ... My Art Gives Meaning To My Life.

I Do Not Believe In The Art Which Is Not The Compulsive Result Of Man's Urge To Open His Heart

In My Childhood I Always Felt That I Was Treated Unjustly, Without A Mother, Sick, And With The Threat Of Punishment In Hell Hanging Over My Head

I Was Walking Along The Road With Two Friends. The Sun Set. I Felt A Tinge Of Melancholy. Suddenly The Sky Became A Bloody Red... I Stood There, Trembling With Fright. And I Felt A Loud, Unending Scream Piercing Nature.

I Do Not Paint What I See, But What I Saw.