Please explain what just happened.
I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.
What is your earliest memory?
Looking at my brother’s tricycle on top of our very steep driveway and thinking, “If he can do it, I can do it”. What I don’t remember, though, is getting on the tricycle, flying down the driveway and ending up in the hospital with a bunch of stitches in my forehead.
If you weren’t an artist, what other profession would you choose?
Something really smart sounding that involves traveling. Like some sort of UN ambassador or secret agent. Except they’d never hire me, so I’d probably end up in the back of mail room sorting mail my whole life like Bukowski or something.