I Think A 23-page Ordinary Comic Is

The Idea That Certain Things In Life - And In The Universe - Don't Yield Up Their Secrets Is Something That Requires A Slightly More Mature Reader To Accept.

I Was A Kid Who Liked Art And Theater And Dance And Music, But If You Lived In Harlem, High Culture Was Somewhere Else, And It Wasn't Black.

Spending Practically Every Minute Of Your Day On Pure Survival Is An Absolutely Boring Life.

The Artist Has Some Internal Experience That Produces A Poem, A Painting, A Piece Of Music. Spectators Submit Themselves To The Work, Which Generates An Inner Experience For Them. But Historically It's A Very New, Not To Mention Vulgar, Idea That The Spectator's Experience Should Be Identical To, Or Even Have Anything To Do With, The Artist's. That Idea Comes From An Over-industrialized Society Which Has Learned To Distrust Magic.

But I Realized Something. About Art. And Psychiatry. They're Both Self-perpetuating Systems. Like Religion. All Three Of Them Promise You A Sense Of Inner Worth And Meaning, And Spend A Lot Of Time Telling You About The Suffering You Have To Go Through To Achieve It.