I don’t think that is tough, because if you have an idea of something meaningful to communicate, you can move forward on that. You might not be successful in communicating what you want to communicate, but at least you have an idea of something that needs to be said, or something that you think should be said, and I think you go from there.

Just by not giving up, I guess. It was extremely difficult. Oh god, I’m hesitant to think what this interview’s gonna look like… I don’t wanna seem like the guy who’s always doing difficult things. But yes, I had writer’s block. It was massive. And I came out of the recording session for Melana Chasmata thinking this was the most difficult album I’ve ever done in my entire life. And I had already thought that after Celtic Frost’s Monotheist and after the first Triptykon album. But now I find myself in a situation where I’m working on the third Triptykon album, and I have exactly the same feeling. So maybe I’m just psychologically sick. I don’t know.

When young artists ask, “How can I get past these things?” I respond: “For one thing, try doing your very worst work. Do the worst song you can possibly think of. At the very least, you’ll get some idea of what your rules are. At the most, you’re going to get something that’s better than anything you’ve ever done because it has a lot of pure energy.” Just make it bad. Just make it really bad. You know, so pure and bad. I have tried that. That works well. Sometimes I clutch on that, too. I think, “No, that’s so bad it’s good.” Go on and on and get yourself twisted up into a language!

At that moment the loud approaching sound of a motor-car was heard in the drive. From this chariot there stepped swiftly and lightly none other than the gifted wife of Sir John Lavery. 'Painting! But what are you hesitating about? Let me have a brush—the big one.' Splash into the turpentine, wallop into the blue and the white, frantic flourish on the palette—clean no longer—and then several large, fierce strokes and slashes of blue on the absolutely cowering canvas. Anyone could see that it could not hit back. No evil fate avenged the jaunty violence. The canvas grinned in helplessness before me. The spell was broken. The sickly inhibitions rolled away. I seized the largest brush and fell upon my victim with Berserk fury. I have never felt any awe of a canvas since.