It always feels strange when I make something that doesn't look very much like anything else. How could it be any good? But at the same time it doesn't seem that bad. I have a hard time judging it properly. Not knowing how to see it. Where it belongs. And what is its real worth? I like to tell myself it's because it's original. If something is uniquely itself, it defies assessment. This piece is like an odd bird that doesn't fit into any category. Like a visitor from a distant land. Another galaxy. What would the art be like if it was made by aliens? What would an exhibit of paintings be if they were brought here on a spaceship? I doubt if people would instantly fall in love with them. But maybe they would. Maybe it'd make the art of earthlings seem dull and fifth rate. It's impossible to know before you actually know.
Last night I received a phone call from my former assistant Jackie, and I showed her one of Dante's paintings. She went wild over it, and begged to buy it for herself. Even phoned Dante four times. I could never have predicted that response. Art is pretty weird. It's nothing until it becomes something. Until you can't live without it.