I really don't know how it happened. Dreaming is like flying. It seems as if I went to sea and then found myself in a seascape in the Salon in the Art Gallery of Ontario, where excellent painters are gathered. I had not known this was possible because the king of my island, who is called Tyrant, says the sea is simply not allowed. But this Salon is filled with ancient stories, and with artists who loved to create wings with their brushes, wings that exist in every painting even though some people cannot see them.
Artists also have wings.
Look at John A. Hammond's Bay of Fundy with its silent boats on still waters, or look at Paul Peel's Mother and Child , The Tired Model and Adoration . It seems as if they are alive, as if they speak to us in forms and colours. As you can see, artists can speak with these greatest of wings. I love harmony and truth as much as I love flowers and this prosperous country. Everyone on my island, Cuba, sometimes dreamed of this place, a country so full of the rivers, snow, lakes and sea, which are in the paintings in front of you.