My Work Life Makes Much Less Sense

I Have To Make About A Million Proofs Of Everything. I Don’t Know, It’s Just A Repetition, Like A Meditation. You Come Back To Something And Then You Leave It, And Then You Come Back Again And You Leave It, And Each Time It Changes. And Sometimes You Have To Wait For New Information Inside Yourself To Be Able To Finish Something, To Find Out How It Should Go.

We As Beings Are Very Contradictory, Complicated Creatures That Work In Our Best Interest And Against Our Best Interest. In A Certain Way, I Want My Work To Have All That Messiness.

I Think That Objects Have Memories. I’m Always Thinking That I’ll Go To The Museum And See Something And Have A Big Memory About Some Other Lifetime.

I Certainly Am One Of Those People Who Is Incredibly Privileged To Have An Art Career, Which Happened Out Of Luck. Then Luck Kept Happening. Besides That, Things Just Move Along In Their Own Weird Way.

It’s One Of My Loose Theories That Catholicism And Art Have Gone Well Together Because Both Believe In The Physical Manifestation Of The Spiritual World.