The only art that I experienced as a kid were the paintings of tortured saints in the cold churches were I spent most of my early years. What I saw was: People nailed on crosses or pierced by arrows, Jesus ripping his shirt open and reveiling his sacred heart surrounded by a crown of thorns, bleeding and burning.
These were the images that hounted me in my childhood-dreams.
Until that memorable day, I must have been 4 or 5, when I opened my first Donald Duck Comic-book and stepped onto Duckburg soil. In that moment I knew- there was a way out.
some years later I opened the wrapper of a chewing-gum that contained a tiny, badly printed picture of Elvis. I was in a state of shock, because I didn't know that a human being could be so beautiful. I didn't know who he was, and I didn't know his name, but he was an epiphany for me that filled my heart with excitement, because I knew now there was a better world somewhere out there. Later it was the Rolling Stones, Hemdrix, Captain Beefheart, Muddy Waters and others that kept me alive. When I was 16/17 I was convinced that the ultimate state of existence was to be a member of the Rolling Stones. Everything else that the world around me had to offer at that time disgusted me.
The last thing I wanted to be was some weired painter with a beard, a smock and beret standing in front of an easel and painting abstract paintings, squares and triangles or shit like that.