I have an existential crisis every time I make a painting. I try to be brave. Music helps, naps, exercise, friendship. What does it feel like to be alive? What’s the vibe? I’m trying to listen to myself. I think we have souls. I think we create them. We are more than our corporeal selves. I don’t know the science of it, but I know what it feels like. And I think it has something to do with fantasy—what we desire, what we summon into being, the space we create and for whom. Painting is a psychological space. How do you let the world in and not just the world but our big fantasies wrapped around our little mortal skeletons. If freedom exists, I’m sure it’s terrifying. Maybe we were never human to begin with. But instead shadow creatures playing pretend.