The legitimization of nonsense.
The chivalry of buffoonery.
The indulgence of fraudulence.
The efficacy of delusion.

What is the meaning of my work?

When I do the work, it seems to have purpose and meaning, but like words on the tip of the tongue, I am unable to distill my thoughts into the cogent explanation. I’ve convinced myself the explanation is there, but I can’t quite put my mind around it. It’s lurks and teases just beyond my reach.

If I can’t articulate the purpose or meaning of my work, it must be nonsense.
And... if my work is nonsense (and, indeed, I have committed my life to doing it), then I must be some kind of fool. I must be a real buffoon.

I know the foolishness of what I do, but one does what their instincts tells them to.

I must be a hero, an intelligent person delving into the absurd, against all reason, and seeking profound truths therein! Yes, that’s it!

Or… perhaps a foolish person, aspiring to be intelligent, but a fraud, nevertheless.
People say that pretending something is true will not make it so, but as far as I can tell, that is precisely what art is about. Art is the theatre of self.

– 6/27/2004