I was born two months early, and everyone had given up on me. But my mother insisted on my life.

I couldn't adjust to the racism in Florida. It was so blatant... I had never been so described as Florida described me.

In my case, the body of work stands for itself... I think my work has been representative of me as a man.

I never had an occasion to question color, therefore, I only saw myself as what I was... a human being.

I am not a hugely religious person, but I believe that there is a oneness with everything. And because there is this oneness, it is possible that my mother is the principal reason for my life.

I find myself, at this time in my life, no less challenged, no less plagued, no less intrigued by what I still don't know.

I've learned that I must find positive outlets for anger or it will destroy me. There is a certain anger: it reaches such intensity that to express it fully would require homicidal rage--self destructive, destroy the world rage--and its flame burns because the world is so unjust. I have to try to find a way to channel that anger to the positive, and the highest positive is forgiveness.