Influences and inspiration. Street and high art in the 1980s and before.
Salvador Dali: You know this guy was tripping on something. Just look at the way he waxed his mustache.
Keep on truckin’.
Fritz the Cat.
Andy Warhol: So you know him from soup cans. You know his platinum hair and his blank look. You know how he liked to take people into his Factory and film them not doing anything. You know about your own 15 minutes of fame.
Keith Haring: He took chances – more than any of us – took a chance on looking like a little kid or a teacher drawing with chalk on black background down in the subway.
Jean-Michel Basquiat: All of your friends love Basquiat because he seems to make paintings like you’d all make – like taking a brush and grunting out all the deep, primitive shit buried in your bone marrow.
Frida Kahlo: She kept a journal sketchbook, maybe the first black book. She painted herself so much because she was alone so often.
Francis Bacon: You love his paintings because they’re so pure, those awful cries like nails across the chalkboard. So awful they’re moving.
Barbara Kruger: You love her because she points out how gullible you are. She shows you what a fool you are to let your own body be used, to let your mind be tricked.
William Blake: Maybe he was a little touched in the head, but his poetry covered every deep question known to humankind, and his etchings are as daring and scary and innocent as anything done today.