Sometimes, I think it’s really hard to notice her stuff, which I think is really a tribute to the strength of her sculpture.

That’s the thing to know about Louise Bourgeois, more than anything else, is her own immediate reality and her own emotional landscape that is always the subject of her work.

People are always accusing her and wanting to know why she’s obsessed with sexual parts. She refuses to even admit that these things are directly representational, and they aren’t, really, in a sense. They’re suggestive...

It’s just such a wonderfully jarring contrast.