I would stay at my grandma's house on my birthday every year and I remember she had a bookshelf of murder mystery books along with really frightening books, like one on Jack the Ripper. She also had a poster of a shark in the closet which also terrified me at the time.

I've never had a mentor. I've always wanted one. I'm actually really disappointed that nobody took my under their wing.

It's really hard to write about art in general. But it's exceptionally hard to fictionalize art and make work that isn't a parody, or is something that could withstand critique and exist in the art world as a valuable object, or a true piece.

I'm ultimately not so much of a professor as a progresser. And I'm ready to move away from what I consider to be this weird mid-century dream that I feel pulls us as a country, and us as a culture, backward.

There's also something sexual about watching the nubile girl in terror. But you do take on her fear as your own.

I've never even done a residency.

I have to say I do read partly for escapism. Why can't I escape and learn something?