Expiring For Love Is Beautiful But Stupid.

I Moved To New York In The 1970s And Started Writing When I Was At The Whitney Museum Independent Study Program.

Well, I Think In Trying To Make Life Seem Real Enough That One Is Moved To Do Something About The More Atrocious Things. By Going Really Far Afield Into A Completely Fake World, Maybe There's A Chance To Make Things Resonant Somehow - Or In This Case, Truly Terrifying. To Make It As Bad As The Real Stuff That's Happening.

A Lot Of Professionals Are Crackpots.

I Wasn't Sure I Was An Artist, So I Thought Maybe I Just Was Throwing Ideas Out For People To Consider.

I Was Hesitant To Approach People. I'm Socially Awkward. But I Was Working On A Number Of Memorials, And Finally It Dawned On Me: These Are Memorials To People Who Wrote, So I Should Use Their Writing. That's How I Started To Quit.