
As an artist I feel that you’re always finding yourself in the midst of other people’s problems. It’s as though by vowing to explore other perspectives with your creations, people see that as beacon. I don’t know what kind of beacon, perhaps one of hope, or perhaps the only light who’s fingers caress a never-ending expanse of darkness. Whatever it is, they come to me. They come in all ways, with bleeding hearts, and laden confessions, ready to share the weight of their world with whoever is kind enough to bear it. I suppose as an artist you’re not just the creator of alternate realities, or the dreamer of dreams, but the one left to the mending of the current reality. All artists are healers, doctors, and psychiatrists. You either accept that from the beginning or you find a new profession. You must accept that it is the role of art and the artist to bear the weight of the world.