" The mind of Crist Espiritu is a cesspool – gurgling with crayon bubbles of gutter aches spitting strange character anomalies. It is as if he tore up everyday characters and icons, mixed and stirred their parts up in a giant septic tank and jigsawed these fragments back up with his eyes closed.
Loaded with vivid colors and psychedelic residues, there is the impression that a permanent sneer guided the production of his works. For Espiritu, living is one grand sick joke – pathetic and obscene but nonetheless entertaining. "