I was 13. And on my own for about 10 months, but those were long months. My stepdad wanted me out of his hair and tried to put me in a home, a hospital kind of place for kids with drug problems, which I absolutely did not belong in. So I left that place and struck out on my own...

My whole family is very art-based. My sister runs a gallery, my other sister works for PACE in New York, my other sister is a sculptor. I'd say the ending one is me because that's the artist and the artist feels a lot.

I'd never even seen orange cheese. I mean, who decided to make that orange? And so there was something different about me that they wanted to crush. I don't think it had anything to do with my physicality, but every single day in school it was, "You're the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

When I get my feelings hurt, or when things scare me, or freak out my sensibilities, or when my feathers get ruffled, it takes me aback, of course, but then I think, I'm grateful that I have a mind that can want more for people and want more for the planet. It's not that hard. It's really quite simple.

You have to work to carve out your own little corner, and I'm certainly smacking my head against the wall trying to make a dent. I just hope I don't get brain-damaged before I get there

I kind of grew breasts overnight and then the world got really loud.

There's nothing wrong with being an agitator.