People say I’m repetitive. Well, look at Mondrian. For me, Mondrian, his tenacity after he finds his motif is something that imprinted on society, the way it imprinted on graphic design, the way it imprinted in magazines, the pervasiveness of his design culturally, the influence—the guy was styling. I think what I’ve learned, even recently, is that influence is what makes someone “eternalized” or famous, not that somebody copies something you do. It’s his influence intellectually, the same way as the influence of Duchamp, the influence of Pollock. This influence thing, which oddly I got from reading literary criticism, where Harold Bloom is writing about writers or Camille Paglia is writing about writers, and you realize these threads that work through civilization, so that things that you didn’t think were connected, you find out were connected. But also, Mondrian was a dancer. His studio in New York was a block away from the place he danced the tango every weekend. If you have ever danced, you know that dancing is like trancing. You’re doing it, and you’re sort of whirling about like a dervish. I think it’s a mystical activity in some ways. You know how little children will just dance? They’ll hear something on the radio and they’ll just start swirling about. I remember my little boy, Max, just holding on to a table when Prince came on, and shaking his little butt to the music. There’s something about the dance. And, when you paint, you’re in a little room moving back and forth between a pallet and a thing. Bang, bang, bang, bang. There’s a sense that there’s a sort of odd little dance there. I guess, for me, Mondrian was just critical as an artist, especially in relation to Surrealism, in relation to the kind of “subjectivism” of, say, Dali and Magritte.