I remember the first time I showed my art to my mentor Paul. He asked, "What are you trying to do here, with these shapes and patterns?"
I said, "I'm making nothingness, an elaborate void, rebelling against the very idea of form." (I was eighteen at the time.)
Paul smiled and said, "I guess what they say is true: you can always tell when someone's a Dadaist."
I tilted my head and said, "A what?"
"Dadaism. It was an art movement, the grandfather of punk and everything experimental. Here, let me show you this book I just happen to be carrying around."
Paul was an art-focused English professor. The fact that he had a book on dadaism in his briefcase wasn't surprising.
"You're gonna love this."
Man, I wish Paul could see me now. He died young. He was about the age I am today when he passed, maybe a little older. I think he would have been fascinated with my current bent. I think about him all the time.