I Paint Flowers So They Will Not

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”.

I Paint Flowers So They Will Not Die.

It Was Worthwhile To Come Here Only To See Why Europe Is Rottening, Why All This People - Good For Nothing - Are The Cause Of All The Hitlers And Mussolinis.

Since My Subjects Have Always Been My Sensations, My States Of Mind And The Profound Reactions That Life Has Been Producing In Me, I Have Frequently Objectified All This In Figures Of Myself, Which Were The Most Sincere And Real Thing That I Could Do In Order To Express What I Felt Inside And Outside Of Myself.

... There Is A Skeleton (or Death) That Flees Terrified In The Face Of My Will To Live.