I’ve been married four times. So I’ve had periods when I’ve been with women or not with women, or chasing women or running away from them, or whatever. You know that old thing “absence makes the heart grow fonder?” I think that absence has a sexual connotation. The pictures of the underwear were like absences, rather than presence, but absence. I think about it more when I’m alone. And I went through a long spell in the ’90s where I was pretty much alone and impoverished and stuff. I think that the sexual imaging I was sharing with myself and with my collaborator, Stu Mead, was we were trying to brainstorm our sexuality or the sexuality of “bachelorism.” “Bacheloring” was one of the things that Duchamp was so good at because everybody wanted him, but nobody got him. I just was interested in exploring an aspect of sexuality that wasn’t necessarily sexual acts but sexual perceptions, or sexual ideas, or sexual concepts. Stu’s handicapped, so his sexual life is different. Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable with Stu as a partner; it’s because there’s a kind of empathy between us. He’s handicapped in a way where you can see his crippling. I’m handicapped in a way where it isn’t quite apparent until I start talking, or painting. Through Stuart, I was able to see things I wasn’t able to see myself. I had had a different life than he had. Secondly, bipolars are much more sexually oriented. Sex is often a survival skill for a bipolar, and often troublesome. I used to say, “If you’re horny enough, you won’t kill yourself.” So there’s a sort of an element that your sexual desire goes up. So, one of things that makes depression so debilitating is the loss of your sexuality and your sexual drive. So I think that the sexual imaging was partly this partnership that we developed as collaborators and friends and also that it had this subjectivity that I had pushed to the side when I was trying to deal with more structural things, like dispersing images over a surface and trying to make formalist paintings with comic books.