I’m not a hoarder. My desire is not to surround myself with the padding of possessions, but to get rid of everything so that I’m no longer weighed down by responsibilities. Because objects, for me, demand relationships. They want to be loved. And I just can’t bear it. Not because I’m cold hearted. (Although my heart, I confess, is close to dead.) But because everything, even the least bit of rubbish, seems to be annoyingly rich in potentialities. And it feels like abandoning a puppy at the side of the road to throw things away rather help them realize something of what that potential is.

I therefore became an installation artist because I wanted to use up the stuff in my house that I didn’t feel brutal enough to discard.

But once the show is over, what do you then do with the installation? Nobody buys such things. And they take up a lot of space. So I started recycling the contents of one installation into another.

“And Then We All Went Home,” was when I’d finally had enough. I ripped up everything that had been in the previous two installations and arranged them around a dead tree that had made a number of appearances in my work. It looked like a public picnic site after all the disgusting humans, with all their disgusting waste, had long gone home.

Seeing people litter makes me loathe my species. And yet, having made an image of human waste, it then seemed beautiful to me. Maybe because it is an image of a space that humans have left. A relief.