No One Leaves The Edit Room Thinking,

As A Son Of A Man Who Pretended To Be One Thing For 33 Years Of My Life And Then Was Another Thing, The Questions Of 'what Is Real' And 'what Is Not Real' Are Very Blurrily Vivid To Me.

I Would Hate To Think I'm Promoting Sadness As An Aesthetic. But I Grew Up In Not Just A Family But A Town And A Culture Where Sadness Is Something You're Taught To Feel Shame About. You End Up Chronically Desiring What Can Be A Very Sentimental Idea Of Love And Connection. A Lot Of My Work Has Been About Trying To Make A Space For Sadness.

My Graffiti Really Comes More From A May '68, Sort Of Situationist Vibe Than The Hip-hop World. I Think A Real Graffiti Artist Would Find Me A Poser.

As Someone Who Grew Up In A House Where There Wasn't A Lot Of Talking, I'm Used To Just Looking At The World. And In General I Often Feel Like I Just Don't Understand What's Happening. That Everybody Else Does, But I Don't Quite Get It.

The Littlest Thing Can Have The Strongest Connection When You're Grieving. Your Proustian, Poetic Nerve Is Turned Up To Ten.