As if goaded by a kind of frantic despair, I sketched these dirty, ragged little victims of the war with their bruised, lacerated minds and bodies, their matted hair and runny noses. Here my life as a painter began in earnest.
Any blockhead can arrange a sublet. All I ever wanted was to support myself on art.
It is tragic that Howard Hughes had to die to prove that he was alive.
Nobody could paint eyes like El Greco and nobody can paint eyes like Walter Keane.
People don't buy lady art.
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