This world is coming to an end. Or to a new beginning I don't quite like.
Either way, I wish the earth was flat again. Arguably, these are dark, horrifying times; I suppose my work reflects that. I find pre-apocalyptic thoughts in the air and I’m done fighting them. There's the lonely, petrified figure, the precipitation of history, the elements of a broken mechanism and the weight of powerlessness. So I look at dictators' hands and I look at all that is scary and unstoppable and I create my own tiny spaces of awkwardness, of faint protest, or delusional certainty. In the corner of a room, or in the streets, I create the annoying, cowardly and vain rituals of a followerless prophet. What's the point? is a constant question.