My painting carries with it the message of pain.
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.
They sit for hours in the “cafes” warming their precious behinds, and talk without stopping about “culture” “art” “revolution” and so on and so forth, thinking themselves the gods of the world, dreaming the most fantastic nonsenses and poisoning the air with theories and theories that never come true.
Vivir de recuerdos es morir.
You too know that all my eyes see, all I touch with myself, from any distance, is Diego. The caress of fabrics, the color of colors, the wires, the nerves, the pencils, the leaves, the dust, the cells, the war and the sun, everything experienced in the minutes of the non-clocks and the non-calendars and the empty non-glances, is him.
This upper class is disgusting and I’m furious at all these rich people here, having seen thousands of people in abject squalor.
Si actuas como si supieras lo que estas haciendo, puedes hacer lo que quieras.
I could kill that guy and eat it afterwards...
Perhaps it is expected that I should lament about how I have suffered living with a man like Diego. But I do not think that the banks of a river suffer because they let the river flow, nor does the earth suffer because of the rains, nor does the atom suffer for letting its energy escape. To my way of thinking, everything has its natural compensation.
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.
Yo le duro lo que usted me cuide, yo le hablo como usted me trate y le creo lo que usted me demuestre.
The industrial part of Detroit is really the most interesting side, otherwise it’s like the rest of the United States, ugly and stupid.
Amurallar el propio sufrimiento es arriesgarse a que te devore desde el interior.
Can verbs be made up? I’ll tell you one. I heaven you, so my wings will open wide to love you boundlessly.
Donde no puedas amar, no te demores.
Why do I need feet when I have wings to fly?
Her view of life, she told a friend, was: “Make love. Take a bath. Make love again.
You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry.
This is how it feels to be in this broken female body. This is how it feels to be alone... This is how it feels to be me. I dare you to look... and once you look, I’m going to make sure you cannot look away.
A veces tienes que olvidar lo que sientes, y recordar lo que mereces.
I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.