Creating brings me much joy. The surprise and discovery of bringing forth some image in the singularity of this moment of time-being is a mystery to me. I’m often too close to what I have created to say much about it. But with time, I feel that I might say something that is helpful to someone. I think art proceeds from love, some tenderness for this fragile, changing world we find ourselves residing in. This love can’t be divided. It doesn’t exist in any of the divisions we create between subject and object. It exists before we make the split. It exists in the very fabric of our universe. I’m not certain about much of anything, except this.
Robert Rauschenberg should have the last word here: “I don’t like to take advantage of an object that can’t defend itself.”