The White Album is a project that we performed in Pittsburgh. We did it at the Wexner in Ohio. We did it at BAM. We’re going to perform it at the Center for the Art of Performance in Los Angeles, which is co-represented by Center Theater Group. And I still don’t feel like the piece is totally finished. I don’t feel like I had nearly enough time to actually develop the work. I feel like I threaded a needle and got it to a certain point that I’m proud of, but I still haven’t had enough time to play with all of the components involved in the work to get them to harmonize in the way that I want.

For me, nothing’s ever really done. I have to be cut off because I could record infinitely, so usually a record is done when it has to be, with some kind of created deadline. Or if somebody I’m working with says it’s done, that helps, because I’m just so unhinged that I need limitation. You can make a really great record with limitations. Limitations help incubate a specific thing. If you got to do whatever you want for as long as you want, you might not have that kind of magic.

I’ll taste it, taste it, taste it, taste it. I ask myself, “How can I make it better? It needs more whatever, salt, vanilla.” Taste it again, again, and again until I think, “Okay, this is it. Let’s not mess with it anymore.” Then I’ll taste it one final time and be like, “Okay, add a percent. Just increase it by one more percent, just a little bit more.” For example, salting a ganache, I’ll salt, salt, salt, salt, salt; taste it. Okay, it can use a little bit more salt. And then I’m like, “Okay, it’s good now.” And then, at the very final moment, I’m going to put a little bit more salt. Walk away. That’s good. Whatever it may be.

Well, art is never finished, it’s only abandoned, right? That famous quote. A project is done when I feel that I can’t make significant improvements to the story, I’m only going to start taking sideways steps. If I revise it, it doesn’t get better, it just gets different.