At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.
Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?
I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.
I drank because I wanted to drown my sorrows, but now the damned things have learned to swim.
I have suffered two grave accidents in my life, one in which a streetcar knocked me down. The other accident is Diego.
I hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return.
I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you.
I love you more than my own skin.
I must fight with all my strength so that the little positive things that my health allows me to do might be pointed toward helping the revolution. The only real reason for living.
I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.
I paint flowers so they will not die.
I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.
I think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive.
I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.
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 was born a bitch. I was born a painter.
My painting carries with it the message of pain.
Nothing is worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing.
Painting completed my life.
Really, I do not know whether my paintings are surrealist or not, but I do know that they are the frankest expression of myself.
Since my subjects have always been my sensations, my states of mind and the profound reactions that life has been producing in me, I have frequently objectified all this in figures of myself, which were the most sincere and real thing that I could do in order to express what I felt inside and outside of myself.
The most interesting thing about the so-called lies of Diego is that, sooner or later, the ones involved in the imaginary tale get angry, not because of the lies, but because of the truth contained in the lies, which always comes forth.
The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.
There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley, and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.
They are so damn intellectual and rotten that I can’t stand them anymore… I would rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with those artistic bitches of Paris.
They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.
Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing.