Fantastic, fantastic epitaph.
And I love Klee.
I first heard of Klee around 1994-95 when I read the classic 1960 Downbeat profile of pianist Bill Evans:
"[Evans'] clothes are just about what's in fashion, he shaves every morning, and his Manhattan apartment is an ordinary three-room affair. A bed, a few chairs, and a kitchen table is the furniture complement, all of it thoroughly bourgeois. A piano takes up half the living room. There is a hi-fi set and a television set, the latter of which he sits before almost every afternoon to apprise himself of the sports scene. He has some 50 books in two bookcases, but only two paintings decorate his walls. One, by Gwyneth Motian, wife of his drummer, Paul Motian, is a small but extremely effective abstraction. The other, by himself, is an attempt at design. It's terrible, but this has not stopped him. He continues to paint with this as his credo: 'I can be as good as Klee at least.'"
With my musical hero's (humorous) endorsement, I decided to investigate Klee's work--and loved it.