When my wife died, I booked myself into the studio just to work, to occupy myself.
I'm not bitter. Why should I be bitter? I'm thrilled to death with life.
Death and hell are never full, and neither are men's eyes.
I developed a pretty unusual style, I think.
When I was 17 - 16, my father and I cut wood all day long and I was swinging that crosscut saw and hauling wood.
The beast in me Is caged by frail and fragile bars.