At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.
Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.
Passion is the bridge that takes you from pain to change.
I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.
I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better.
Sexism and racism are parallel problems. You can compare them in some ways, but they’re not at all the same. But they’re both symptoms inside the white male power structure.
Can one invent verbs? I want to tell you one: I sky you, so my wings extend so large to love you without measure.
I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.
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”.
There is nothing more precious than laughter
I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.
I paint flowers so they will not die.
Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are a bourbon biscuit.
I wanted to tell you that my whole being opened for you. Since I fell in love with you everything is transformed and is full of beauty… love is like an aroma, like a current, like rain.
I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint.
Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?
Mankind owns its destiny, and its destiny is the earth. We are destroying it until we have no destiny.
I want a storm to come and flood us into a song that no one wrote.
Everyone’s opinions about things change over time. Nothing is constant. Everything changes. And to hold onto some dogged idea forever is a little rigid and maybe naive.
I love you more than my own skin and even though you don’t love me the same way, you love me anyways, don’t you? And if you don’t, I’ll always have the hope that you do, and i’m satisfied with that. Love me a little. I adore you.
Nothing is worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing.
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 think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive.
What would I do without the absurd and the ephemeral?
It’s not possible to present an accurate picture of our culture without all the voices of the people in the culture. So at the emerging level, you can’t have a good survey art show without women and artists of color.