I suppose an artist takes the elements of his life and rearranges them and then has them perceived by others as though they were the elements of their lives.
I don’t very often think I’ve done a good job. I don’t like the majority of what I do. I shouldn’t say I don’t like it, but I’m not satisfied with almost everything that I do.
I try to open up my heart as much as I can and keep a real keen eye out that I don’t get sentimental. I think we’re all afraid to reveal our hearts. It’s not at all in fashion.
Maybe the heart is part of the mist. And that’s all that there is or could ever exist. Maybe and maybe and maybe some more. Maybe’s the exit that I’m looking for.
