Why must I do this? Is it money? That’s part of it, but it’s not the driving force. If I were hooked up to a polygraph and my life depended on a truthful answer, I’d have to admit that it’s simply exciting. I am a boring middle-class white boy from the suburbs. Most people (I like to think) describe me as a nice guy. A prosaic existence, after too long, makes me want to vomit. I want to be bad. I want to be good at being bad. But that’s the lie detector answer. I dig a little deeper for how I might negotiate this choice within the identity I’ve already chosen for myself: artist.
