No Moon, Sun, Diamond, Hands

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

Surrealism Is The Magical Surprise Of Finding A Lion In A Wardrobe, Where You Were 'sure' Of Finding Shirts.

My Paintings Are Well-painted, Not Nimbly But Patiently. My Painting Contains In It The Message Of Pain. I Think That At Least A Few People Are Interested In It. It's Not Revolutionary. Why Keep Wishing For It To Be Belligerent? I Can't. Painting Completed My Life. I Lost Three Children And A Series Of Other Things That Would Have Fulfilled My Horrible Life. My Painting Took The Place Of All Of This. I Think Work Is The Best.

I Don’t Like The Gringos At All. They Are Very Boring And All Have Faces Like Unbaked Rolls.

I Paint My Own Reality.