Back in the Nineties, I was accused of being a narcissist. Blindly myopic and self-obsessed. Thirty years later there is still no greater insult than to be called a narcissist in the cultural world. I’ve always used my life and myself as subject matter. I have never painted pictures, only emotions. If my art were tears then I’ve painted a million tsunamis.
My world since I can remember has been wrapped up with sadness and fear.
