Since the death of my mother in 2014, I came to the realization that life is short and that I needed to produce some form of creative “outpouring” every day and if I am lucky two or three. (Or even, on a particularly incontinent day, maybe more.) The work lies somewhere in the space between the tags on Instagram; from “postgardfromkafka” through to the more poignant “lastitaliangarden”. The work seeks to depict a world that I am familiar with; that of very clever but often, very stupid men; myself included. The frailty of the body, the emptiness of the bombast, the grimness of the ideology, the manic displeasure of the pleasure of flesh.
There is little that is black and white in the ideas that I pursue or the images that I depict, but rather bright, bold and nuanced pathways that seek to negotiate the world as I observe it. Then I realize how wrong I am and start again with my note taking on the politics of existence.