I paint because the spirits whisper madly inside my head.
Can the darkness condemn the light?
The language of art is celestial in origin and can only be understood by the chosen.
Painting, because of its universality, becomes speculation.
Art is everywhere you look for it, hail the twinkling stars for they are God's careless splatters
I was created by the all powerful God to fill the universe with my masterpieces.
Artists create out of a sense of desolation. The spirit of creation is a excruciating, intricate exploration from within the soul.
I suffer for my art and despise the witless moneyed scoundrels who praise it.
It is only after years of struggle and deprivation that the young artist should touch color - and then only in the company of his betters.
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