The thing about Paris, it's a great city for wandering around and buying shoes and nursing a cafe au lait for hours on end and pretending you're Baudelaire. But it's not a city where you can work.

Don't kill the golden goose.

What are the politics of boredom?

Stealing things is a glorious occupation, particularly in the art world.

Nothing changes and very little happens in Paris. This is a great place to work without distraction - and then I run away to New York, where I have a life!

There are two rules I've always tried to live by: turn left, if you're supposed to turn right; go through any door that you're not supposed to enter. It's the only way to fight your way through to any kind of authentic feeling in a world beset by fakery.

I saw a picture of Elvis in blue lame, and thought that if I could recreate that suit and walk down the King's Road in it, someone might pick me up and take me off on a crazy adventure.