My Painting Carries With It The Message

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

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”.

No Moon, Sun, Diamond, Hands — Fingertip, Dot, Ray, Gauze, Sea. Pine Green, Pink Glass, Eye, Mine, Eraser, Mud, Mother, I Am Coming.

Only One Mountain Can Know The Core Of Another Mountain.

My Blood Is A Miracle That, From My Veins, Crosses The Air In My Heart Into Yours.