It was like I was possessed with the sudden idea that I’d never found the perfect red. It made me so angry. And I dug a palette knife into my skin because I wondered if I would find the color I’d been searching for. You know how dull they are…it was almost impossible to break the skin, but I did. And I kept going and transferring it to the canvas. I hadn’t meant to end my life, per se. But that’s kind of what started to transpire. Anyway, Mathilde was passing my studio on her way back from a hotel shift, and she saw me and brought me to the hospital. I wouldn’t be alive without her.”
