There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley, and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.

Painting completed my life.

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.

They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn't. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

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.