“But there are those who starve to death and all I can do is be born. My rigmarole is: what can I do for them? My answer is: paint a fresco in adagio. I could suffer the hunger of others in silence but a contralto voice makes me sing—I sing dull and black. It’s my message of a person alone. A person eats another from hunger. But I fed myself with my own placenta. And I’m not going to bite my nails because this is a tranquil adagio.”