For many years, I believed that everything I created sprang from my love for Julie, my J. I thought she was my muse. Now I know, after understanding backwards in a Kierkegaardian manner, that this is not true. Julie stripped me bare; she dissolved me so that I could become myself. She was an undeniable demand not to be something. Her presence in the city, at my side, required that I stood as a naked being. The truth of the encounter was so powerful that any role became impossible for me.

For Julie