Feet, what do I need them forIf I have wings to fly.
I don’t paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.
I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.
I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.
What I wanted to express very clearly and intensely was that the reason these people had to invent or imagine heroes and gods is pure fear. Fear of life and fear of death.
I think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive.
The most important thing for everyone in Gringolandia is to have ambition and become ‘somebody,’ and frankly, I don’t have the least ambition to become anybody.
The industrial part of Detroit is really the most interesting side, otherwise it’s like the rest of the United States, ugly and stupid.
I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to know better.
They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.
I was a child who went about in a world of colors… My friends, my companions, became women slowly; I became old in instants.
I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.
I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.