There is something beautiful about a blank canvas, the nothingness of the beginning that is so simple and breathtakingly pure. It’s the paint that changes its meaning and the hand that creates the story. Every piece begins the same, but in the end they are all uniquely different.

Sometimes I can feel my darkness, like a fragment of nerves inside of me somewhere, sparking my hate. I picture it moving throughout my body, the other cells letting it pass by, yielding to its master. It moves to my tongue when it wants me to spew beautiful, damaging words, it moves to my hands when it wants me to feel all it can take away, and it moves to my eyes to blind me from truly seeing the destruction I’ve done.

I love women more on canvas than real life, for they seldom change on canvas!

It's a lucky find, ... When I first saw the painting I was overwhelmed by its beauty and its condition.

When God paints with me, my work is divine, and when I paint alone its not.

Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot; others transform a yellow spot into the sun.