Statement 30/11/2010

Combining opposites is the starting point for my practice. The art I am currently making combines elements of hard edge painting and gestural painting. I have found that this tactic allows me to expose the flaws and strengths of the two elements I use. The hybrids I create through this process hopefully say something of painting and something of myself.

Lofted on-drive for four

Ominous authoritarian international style disasters. Brasilia. Tainted success stories of new York and other world capitals. The architecture and the art of modern error and modern success. Idealism that has bred tales of calamity. Confused things . Unpurity. Liveable apocalypse. A totally average contradiction. Paradoxes that do not end the universe but simply make you scratch your head, or maybe your butt.

Coffee at Koko in Sydney

Note: you are an arsehole. Just because you feel good about yourself and the world doesn't mean the world likes you. In fact it is more probable that people don't think about you at all and at the very most are thinking, "one more prick in my way on the road to where I need to go".

Snakes on a motherfucking plane

In a plane, thinking about fucking. Something interior, smooth and hot. Tight. Something swollen of mine to fuck with. Some things to suck and feel. An arse to grab, to reach around and access... To listen to someone moan. Panting. Name calling. Hitting. Biting. Bruises and carpet burns.

Self portrait

Arsehole

You just have to accept that some people think you are an
arsehole.

Response

The other night a friend and I were discussing the idea of converting old hurts into positive life lessons. He wrote me a text the following day,

"Just give Compassion
and Love...
you will become Venusian..
and Magnetic!
LoveBig Hug"

He is right. Easier said than done. Still, I don't really want to be good, healthy, whatever. I want focus, rage, clarity, control. A razor, crystal expanse. Yeah, whatever.

Order

Everything is fucked because it fucks itself and everything is always as it should be. There is nothing real because there should be nothing real. There is nothing reliable because there should not be anything reliable. No such thing as friendship, no such thing as communication. Things are fucked, just as they should be. This broken shitty mess should be appreciated more, it is the correct order of things.

Anxiety and drink

After work I drink. It's not the first thing I do but the other things I do are simply to delay the drinking. The focus is the drink. Hopefully hard liquor or perhaps a cocktail. My current favorites are the Black Rose and the Sazerac. Both are potent and act swiftly, without hesitation. They work, they affect that thing I need them to effect, they are effective. I enjoy being affected. I don't know. Discipline, effort, consolidation. Consumption, laziness, indulgence....

I'm in a restaurant now. It's empty, I'm the only one in the room, I'm still waiting on my main. What the fuck sort of life am I leading? It borders on the silent, the unmoving, the fucking dead. Things lack impact. The general quiet and repetition of a good life with more than I need. Like everyone, I only want those things that I cannot have.

It's a different night now and and I'm out again and I'm listening to the conversations around me. There are two beautiful young women next to me. They're discussing uni, work, men. Boys actually. There is no such thing as men. What they have to say is quite boring, I guess I'm only eavesdropping because they are lovely so my attention returns to my drink. Booze, like art, answers a question for me. That question is the one of anxiety. Anxiety. An expanse of weight and open time. The anxiety flows. A series of moments, a torrent of seconds, time feels rancid, rancid honeyed concrete, marking change, progress.

On a bus, going to a party. It's a thirtieth. I wish I could say that going to this party was about meeting new people. It's not. It's about the drinking and, maybe a catch up with an old friend. A socially acceptable excuse to drink. Another friend gives me some drug. Two pills of drug. It makes me crave. I only want things I can't or don't have. There is a beautiful woman here at this party. Something I can't have. Perfect skin and wonderfully long dark hair. She would never have me. She said yes to a drink once, then said no. I've thought about asking her again but I won't. Perhaps if I was something I'm not, well, whatever. If I didn't have this drink problem, this social anxiety thing then maybe I could get the things the I want.

Well, I'll add to this post over time. I'm trying to figure this thing out. I need to fix this thing. I need to solve this problem of drink and anxiety.

Wisdom

Dead on arrival