Art Is Like A Lover Whom You

Maybe I Don't Believe Things Myself, As Well. Truth Is Such A Transient Thing...

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.

The Idea That I'm Going To Have To Sit Down To Write Some Fiction Where I'm Going To Have To Think Of A Plot Would Really Scare Me, Because It Would Come Out A Mess.

One Thing That Success Has Taught Me Is Censorship.

I Like Poor Materials. I Couldn't See Myself Making A Bronze Sculpture - It's Not Me. I Like Neon, Because It's Moving Constantly And Like Drawing. The Chemicals Going Through The Neon Turns Me On Really - It's Sexy. I Like Fabrics, But One Of The Main Things With Objects Is That I Really Have To Love Them Before I Can Use Them. I Have To Have The Object Around Me A Long Time. The Little Chairs I Used In My Last White Cube Show Are Ones That My Dad Bought For Me. A Sort Of A Psychometry With Objects And Things. It's Like The Pieces I've Made Are My Things.