The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic. It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent.
Night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, “I am death, your mother. I am to give you fresh birth.”
The space between the words and the pictures is where the magic happens.
I don’t believe in the possibility of absolute truth in art.