There Should Be Something Revelatory

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.

When I Have An Exhibition, I Usually Arrange It So That If People Want To, They Can Spend Two Hours There. That Way, People Who Like It Don't Feel Cheated When They Go. I Want Them To Walk Into The Exhibition Space And Look Low And At Other Levels And Angles. The Same With Emotions. I Want Them To Be Emotionally Manipulated, To Come Out Feeling Something. I Want Them To Laugh, Smile, Feel Sad. Even If They Feel Angry, That's Okay.

I'm Totally Monogamous When I'm In A Relationship, And When I'm Not In A Relationship, I Don't Sleep Around. So When I'm Not With Someone, I'm Really On My Own.

The Words Went Round And Round And Round In My Mind And My Body, Until I Knew They Were No Longer My Words But Something That Had Been Carved Into My Heart. And Now My Soul Was Crying.

People Try Constantly To Use Me And I Hate It.