The paint, the canvas: it's not enough. I want to dip my hands into fibers and fur, feathers and glue. I want to make ridiculously frivolous and useless sculptures and found feathers and bits of trash of sea glass. It's really insane...I can actually move myself to tears thinking of how much I want, how much I need. Art tortures me with its unfulfilled inspirations and also keeps me in some kind of arousal for this silly life.