I was talking to a photographer over the weekend who I met and it was an interesting conversation because I’m not a visual person at all, so I’m always interested in talking to artists and photographers and stuff. And he was talking late into the night. And as the booze hit things got headier and deeper and sadder. He started talking about how there are all these things he wants to do with his photography but like every once in a while he’s like, “Oh my God, I’m the worst in the world. I’m a fucking hack. I suck. I’m a joke – it’s incredible that I ever took myself seriously and I’m a fucking nuisance on society.” And then the next day he’ll be like, “Oh wow. I’m actually really good. I’m great.” That’s a piston going up and down. Like you don’t want to be someone who’s even keeled about what they do if you’re a creative. You wanna be – frankly – bipolar. No offence to bipolar people but you literally want to have two poles because that’s what an engine has. It’s exploding one minute and then it’s not exploding the next. That’s why the car goes vroom, vroom.