New Sparks up:

I might get in trouble for saying this, but there’s a certain amount of narcissism built into an artist’s work. Regardless of whether it’s self-deprecating, egotistical, or in the completely objective third person, there’s a certain amount of “look at me, who I am, where I came from, and who came before me.” No earth shattering notion, artists are sums and mirrors of their lifetime environments. What kind of double ding dong witchcraft reflector is the child of an artist, who becomes an artist him or herself? It’s a kind of crazy reflection of a reflection that can be volatile and somewhat fertile at best, and a mere shiny sheet metal rectangle hung in a rest stop men’s room on a towel dispenser, with “bich” scratched into it.

I hope that one day he’ll explore the psychopathology of The Fan dropping dollars in the dump-truck with wheelbarrows.