When I was growing up and going to art school and learning about African-American art, much of it was a type of political art that was very didactic and based on the '60s, and a social collective.

Artists are those people who sit at the intersection between the known and unknown, the rational and irrational, coming to terms with some of the confusing histories we, as artists, deal with.

In a sense, we are all victims of the misogyny and racism that exist in the world, no matter what our gender or race happens to be.

I'm about looking at each of those perceived menacing black men that you see in the streets all over the place, people that you oftentimes will walk past without assuming that they have the same humanity, fears that we all do.

For young people in the U.K. who find themselves without anywhere to live - perhaps they have left the family home after a relationship breakdown, or to escape abuse, or have left care - it is far too easy to become trapped in a chain of misfortune, with little help from the state.

Sometimes I wish I didn't have somebody in my family who's in the business.

I came from Canada when I was about 10 years old, and our family settled in Cleveland, Ohio.

I was born in Akron, Ohio, on June 6, 1943, one year to the day before D-Day, the allied invasion at Normandy. The youngest of four children, I was brought up in a wonderfully stable, loving family of strong Midwestern values.