Almost without realizing it, I’d discovered the community of like-minded truth seekers I’d hungered for in the Haight. Art was our godhead. It was our calling and our discipline. It summoned and focused our energies, structured our time. Art humbled us. Everyone agreed they didn’t know the answers, or even the questions. Everyone was open to the new, struggling to make his or her stuff important, vying for attention. It was intensely competitive.
Much later I realized I’d not only set aside logic—I’d gone beyond language. Even though I was using words as images, I wasn’t thinking in words. I wasn’t thinking, period. I was using a part of my imagination connected to image making. I was painting.
Bad Boy: My Life On and Off the Canvas