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His hair was long and stringy, he lifted weights, he had a twitch….

…while others were sculpting in plaster, he was scribbling on a piece of plastic.  When others were making nests in trees, he was looking for a decent pen that wouldn’t make his hand cramp up.  How personal is your Art?

His piece was 9 yards wide and 2 yards high….in his smallest handwriting possible he began writing “don’t touch me” again and again and again.  It drove the rest of us quietly mad, while it freed him of invisible chains.  Besides his work sat mine, a thousand screaming faces.

Mine was visual, but so was his, they both spoke to the unbearable reality of being a modern day human, left to my own devices, however, I don’t believe I would have ever created something like his.

No one asked…it wasn’t necessary, he didn’t need to share it in any other way.  This was his way.  Silently repeating it off in his studio….where no one could touch him.