For Whatever Deserves To Exist Deserves Also

My Painting Is Not Violent, It's Life That Is Violent. Even Within The Most Beautiful Landscape, In The Trees, Under The Leaves, The Insects Are Eating Each Other; Violence Is A Part Of Life. We Are Born With A Scream; We Come Into Life With A Scream And Maybe Love Is A Mosquito Net Between The Fear Of Living And The Fear Of Death.

Knowledge Hath In It Somewhat Of The Serpent, And Therefore Where It Entereth Into A Man It Makes Him Swell.

Nothing Opens The Heart Like A True Friend, To Whom You May Impart Griefs, Joys, Fears, Hopes...and Whatever Lies Upon The Heart.

There Was A Young Man In Rome That Was Very Like Augustus Caesar; Augustus Took Knowledge Of It And Sent For The Man, And Asked Him "was Your Mother Never At Rome?" He Answered "no Sir; But My Father Was."

I Feel Ever So Strongly That An Artist Must Be Nourished By His Passions And His Despairs. These Things Alter An Artist Whether For The Good Or The Better Or The Worse. It Must Alter Him. The Feelings Of Desperation And Unhappiness Are More Useful To An Artist Than The Feeling Of Contentment, Because Desperation And Unhappiness Stretch Your Whole Sensibility.