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.

The one thing I'm jealous of a signature-artist situation is that if you just do one thing and slight variations on it, you wouldn't have to kill yourself to get a show done. I'm sick of killing myself.

I can never remember names. I'm so self-centered and have a terrible memory.

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.

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

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.