You’ve found the hidden meaning behind my work:
When I was nine, I was home alone one afternoon and found a cheerfully oblivious intruder rummaging through my mother’s jewelry box. My precocious diplomacy coaxed him out of the house empty-handed. He left me with a weird sympathy for the uninvited guest.
Germans are funny. I never understood why people think they aren’t. Maybe they haven’t worked for a German creative director who makes cruel photoshopped images of his colleagues or fallen in love with a German girl who jogs in platform heels. Then they’d know.
I’ve been blessed with good health, but over the years I’ve endured and been witness to a number of bizarre injuries. They are for the most part too gruesome to name. I’d rather sprinkle harrowing allusions to them in my work. All for laughs.
I am partial to people who believe in things way more fiercely than they should. I grew up rooting for terrible sports teams, raised in an ancient religion marked by illogical superstition, and unfortunately missing a critical filter for infomercials. So I get it.
I love the art of dance, but also love nothing more than people who dance badly and unselfconsciously. Maybe because I am one of those people. Dance is so oddly personal, especially when it’s unschooled. And if you’re not trained, enthusiasm trumps talent. Always.
There is nothing more boring than two things that are perfectly matched. Real magic happens with people or things that aren’t supposed to go together. In my work and in my life, I fight to keep alive the possibility of surprise. The happy accident.