I'm jealous of that time when you could afford lofts and survive on almost nothing. You can't do that anymore.

There's so many bigger things in the world. The art world is such a tiny little thing compared to wars and migration crises. It's weird to be self-absorbed in it.

There's so much art and it's gotten so flashy. In the global marketplace, having art that's shiny and has neon lights is almost what you need for anyone to notice it in an art fair situation - and art fairs seem to be more and more the only thing there is.

One thing I noticed over time is that if I got a bad review, usually the bad part of it was at the very end. I could tell that nobody read the whole review because they would just say, "It was great to see the review!" In a way, my brain shuts down at the end of an article. It doesn't really want to go to the end.

I feel like schizoid is a precursor to schizophrenia or manic depression. I feel like I'm manic. I have parts of schizoid, parts of Asperger's. I'm a smorgasbord of neuroses.

If I don't have a deadline, I could fuss around with stuff for forever.

I'm getting more and more isolated as I get on in years. I think people's insanity starts to slowly take over.