“I remember that once as a teenager I dissected my computer to try to repair it, and how transfixed I became upon seeing its mysterious hidden architecture inside. I felt like a brain surgeon opening up a skull. I had no real idea how it worked, it looked like a miniature city functioning under its own unique laws and logic. I’d owned it for a year and could program it so I understood something of how the software worked, I could even do a little machine code but ultimately I remained pretty ignorant of how the hardware operated.
Likewise, if I look back at my studio wall drawings and I see the trace of my existence over the years; my moods, my output as an artist, and the events that have occurred both in my own life and in the world in general, I still feel completely unable to explain any of it with any real authority. No matter which language we might use to explore the phenomenon of our existence, be it physics, history, logic or poetry, the central process always seem to remain ungraspable.”