Last September, I went to a three-day music festival, and really hurt my ears. The mild tinnitus I had going in became rather severe. I remember being incredibly angry at myself for letting it happen—for not taking better care of my [fragile] body. Why me? I'm young and healthy, but then again of course I would get Tinnitus.
In the frenetic anger and sadness of those weeks, I resorted to art to try to empty myself of the distress. The first piece in particular stands out to me as one of the most works I've ever made, because it's the product of bona fide suffering (unfair trade artwork, if you will)—and I made it in a kind of feverish hate trance.
These days I don't notice the ringing much, but it's still there. Maybe forever.
