Maurice Sendak has died this week aged 83, and I’m
mentioning it here because this author and illustrator has had an enormous
influence on me – he must have, because ever since I read Where The Wild Things Are
as a boy, his monsters have never left me.
I don’t think you get to choose your influences, they choose you. What makes a song resonate within your
soul? What makes a book speak to you and
leave you speechless? Why do I
like Marmite? These are not conscious decisions;
these are just inexplicable biological reactions. Little bits of magic. And it shapes you and you have no control
over that. I didn’t go out of my way to
hate beatboxing; my biological makeup reacted to the utter ear-bleeding
nonsense and told me that it was pointless shit. I like to think Sendak would have hated it
too.
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