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.
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.
I’m always going forward toward something, and that something is usually an album, because I like to record. I probably like to record more than I like to write.
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 don’t feel any pressure from fans. But I’m always in some kind of state of emotional turmoil. I would not describe myself as happy-go-lucky. That’s not to say that I’m not happy.
