You grow up a bit damaged or broken then you have some success but you don’t know how to feel good about the work you’re doing or the life you’re leading.
With any part you play, there is a certain amount of yourself in it. There has to be, otherwise it’s just not acting. It’s lying.
We’re all a mishmash of extremes. I know that I have demons. I don’t know if I want to get rid of them altogether, but I would like to experience them in a different way. Maybe go face to face with them. I’ve never really had the time to go to therapy. Well, here and there. But not enough to help me.
People say I make strange choices, but they’re not strange for me. My sickness is that I’m fascinated by human behavior, by what’s underneath the surface, by the worlds inside people.
If there’s any message to my work, it is ultimately that it’s OK to be different, that it’s good to be different, that we should question ourselves before we pass judgment on someone who looks different, behaves different, talks different, is a different color.
I’m an old-fashioned guy, I want to be an old man with a beer belly sitting on a porch, looking at a lake or something.
I wouldn’t say I’m pessimistic or optimistic. I’m more realistic, I guess. But not cynical. I look. I watch.
I pretty much try to stay in a constant state of confusion just because of the expression it leaves on my face.