I do not know anything about Art with a capital A. What I do know about is my art. Because it concerns me. I do not speak for others. So I do not speak for things which profess to speak for others. My art, however, speaks for me. It lights my way.

Explanation is not half as strong as experience but experience is not half as strong as experience and understanding

Here then - the after math of meaning. A liftime finished between the space of two frames.

Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground.

House of Leaves is certainly about the unsettling nature of fear - and it was my aim to address that - but its also about recovering from fear.

Here then at long last is my darkness. No cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold.

Everyone loves the Dream but I kill it.