Maybe I Don't Believe Things

Criticism On My Works Is Like This: You've Worked Hard All Of Your Life, You Went To Oxford, And You've Done This And That, And You're An Art Critic. Your Job Is To Unravel The "secret" Or Whatever, And You Come Across An Entity Like Me. It's Going To Piss You Off. Because There's No Great Secret, What You See Is What You Get, And Anyone Can Understand What I'm Doing. So, It's Almost Like I Make This Critic-person Redundant, Just By My Attitude, And They Resent Me For That.

If I Were Really, Truly In Love With Someone Who Was Truly In Love With Me, Then I Would Get Married, But That Would Be The Only Reason I'd Get Married.

When I Am Ill Or Upset He Jumps Up On To The Bed To Curl Up Close Beside Me. But If I Am In Bed With A Hangover He Will Have Nothing To Do With Me.

I Had Become Conscious Of My Physicality, Aware Of My Presence And Open To The Ugly Truths Of The World. At The Age Of Thirteen, I Realised That There Was A Danger In Innocence And Beauty, And I Could Not Live With Both.

Someone Else Who Liked What I Did Might Turn Around And Say, "she's Reworking And Rethinking Everything. She Could Just Be Making Blankets Now, And Be A Lot Wealthier." I'm Actually Making It Difficult For Myself. I Wouldn't Call It Re-branding. If I Get Bored With My Work, Then Other People Will - It's That Simple. And I'm Not Gonna Get Bored With What I'm Doing. I'll Struggle And Fight And Do New Things To Excite Myself - And Do It In My Own Sweet Way.