With drawing I allow myself the luxury of making more open-ended statements about modernism than I do in my paintings, which have to be more pointed. They are an attempt, in my own jokey, low, unhappy way, to cram together the profusion of objects, art spaces, images, and forms associated with modernism into a nullifying parade of stuff and surface. I would not be unhappy if anyone thought that they were comments on the total poverty of contemporary illustration, because once the self-reflexive idea of honesty to materials is dead I think that everything becomes illustration, just of a more (or less) complex text, even if the text is about how the thing you’re looking at is in some interstitial, indescribable non-space. In other words, Modernism may be Dead, but Modernism is also Dad, as in, Dada and Mum. .