And I Would Often Wake Up At

I Don’t Believe In An Art That Is Not Born Out Of Man’s Need To Open His Heart.

My Father Was Temperamentally Nervous And Obsessively Religious—to The Point Of Psychoneurosis. From Him I Inherited The Seeds Of Madness. The Angels Of Fear, Sorrow, And Death Stood By My Side Since The Day I Was Born.

Art Comes From Joy And Pain...but Mostly From Pain.

And I Would Often Wake Up At Night And Stare Widely Into The Room: Am I In Hell?

Without Fear And Illness, I Could Never Have Accomplished All I Have