My Blood Is A Miracle That, From

Really, I Do Not Know Whether My Paintings Are Surrealist Or Not, But I Do Know That They Are The Frankest Expression Of Myself.

I Think That Little By Little I'll Be Able To Solve My Problems And Survive.

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

What Would I Do Without The Absurd And The Ephemeral?

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”.