One time in college I had an idea to make a gigantic, suspended cloud that people could stand inside and all you could see were their little legs coming out of the bottom. This was what I made from the remnants.
Humor has always been important to me. A coping mechanism. A leverage. Irreverent, fantastical, self-aware. I just want to make things that feel like an ideal extension or interpretation of myself. Art is selfish that way.
I feel like Los Angeles has a sort of begrudging self-awareness of what a caricature it is. That perceived glittery glamor of piss soaked sidewalks is at once baffling and charming in a way I don’t think any other city can be. New Yorkers seem to love to invite Angelinos to move back east while dismissing the merits of west coast living. But there’s something about living in a place so “young” and simultaneously full of ego and humility that makes me want to exhaust myself of all the driving and burritos and tourists before I consider calling any place else home.
PS: Happy birthday, Shakespeare.