We went to a hall of mirrors
Oil, Ready to hang
76.2cm (W) x 76.2cm (H) x 3.8cm (D)
in 2020 I began a series of work to be exhibited in Collective Haunt in 2021. This series was called “My Bedroom”. A series of self portraits with various lights and colours abstracting my face and body. Included is an excerpt from the show.
“They’re about the space between where we sleep and where dreams begin. A manifestation of the red hot fever dream that is just existing. There is no lingering narrative for the viewer to break down or absorb in these works just a sweltering canopy of movement and colour which is where we’re dropped off to wonder. There is so much vigour and veracity in shallow ponds, if you went outside you’d be surprised to find there’s just as much life and joy below your nose than the whole world can provide. In a room no bigger than a few metres squared, wonderful things can reside, if we take them to be just as mystified. These paintings are when your eyes meet your own in the reflection in a passing bus as you stand by the lights. Driving past the home you grew up in but barely having a second to remember anything. In sunlight, it’s only the surface of the river that shimmers, I want to see that, albeit my room is a bit dimmer. “
This painting’s name is a poem I wrote and exhibited beside the piece.
“We went to a hall of mirrors. It had never really dawned on me that I was so tall, or that I had such a nose. I know for you, I was all that you saw. You’d been here before, so you’d watch and placate my attempts to escape or find ways to go.
Your home was an ochre gold, your kitchen out looked the red stone yard. Shaded and dark by three large multiple story walls, imposingly they found little me, so small, and stared loathingly.
You’d tell me all about the art and what they meant as you put mine up amongst them. I’d sit at the head of the dining table and stare at the dozen pots hanging above the stove. Then watch the back of your head while the steam wreathing made the room close with an unsettlingly ambient, still feeling.
Rhythmically clinking the wooden spoon around some fish and vegetable stew. We abided quietly in the gaps and waited for our due.
We’d sit in chairs made of bamboo littered with leafs by an ankle glass table. I’d smoke and listen to you ramble. About gays in the eighties, aids or even occasionally straight ladies. I could roll that sliver coin of moonlight between my fingers, refractions from the steel framed grape vines. Loudly they scrambled and clambered in the wind as i’d listen, contribute and learn so as our time would continue.
Then twenty minutes past nine, I’d say my good nights and a thank you.”
Oil, Ready to hang
76.2cm (W) x 76.2cm (H) x 3.8cm (D)
in 2020 I began a series of work to be exhibited in Collective Haunt in 2021. This series was called “My Bedroom”. A series of self portraits with various lights and colours abstracting my face and body. Included is an excerpt from the show.
“They’re about the space between where we sleep and where dreams begin. A manifestation of the red hot fever dream that is just existing. There is no lingering narrative for the viewer to break down or absorb in these works just a sweltering canopy of movement and colour which is where we’re dropped off to wonder. There is so much vigour and veracity in shallow ponds, if you went outside you’d be surprised to find there’s just as much life and joy below your nose than the whole world can provide. In a room no bigger than a few metres squared, wonderful things can reside, if we take them to be just as mystified. These paintings are when your eyes meet your own in the reflection in a passing bus as you stand by the lights. Driving past the home you grew up in but barely having a second to remember anything. In sunlight, it’s only the surface of the river that shimmers, I want to see that, albeit my room is a bit dimmer. “
This painting’s name is a poem I wrote and exhibited beside the piece.
“We went to a hall of mirrors. It had never really dawned on me that I was so tall, or that I had such a nose. I know for you, I was all that you saw. You’d been here before, so you’d watch and placate my attempts to escape or find ways to go.
Your home was an ochre gold, your kitchen out looked the red stone yard. Shaded and dark by three large multiple story walls, imposingly they found little me, so small, and stared loathingly.
You’d tell me all about the art and what they meant as you put mine up amongst them. I’d sit at the head of the dining table and stare at the dozen pots hanging above the stove. Then watch the back of your head while the steam wreathing made the room close with an unsettlingly ambient, still feeling.
Rhythmically clinking the wooden spoon around some fish and vegetable stew. We abided quietly in the gaps and waited for our due.
We’d sit in chairs made of bamboo littered with leafs by an ankle glass table. I’d smoke and listen to you ramble. About gays in the eighties, aids or even occasionally straight ladies. I could roll that sliver coin of moonlight between my fingers, refractions from the steel framed grape vines. Loudly they scrambled and clambered in the wind as i’d listen, contribute and learn so as our time would continue.
Then twenty minutes past nine, I’d say my good nights and a thank you.”
Oil, Ready to hang
76.2cm (W) x 76.2cm (H) x 3.8cm (D)
in 2020 I began a series of work to be exhibited in Collective Haunt in 2021. This series was called “My Bedroom”. A series of self portraits with various lights and colours abstracting my face and body. Included is an excerpt from the show.
“They’re about the space between where we sleep and where dreams begin. A manifestation of the red hot fever dream that is just existing. There is no lingering narrative for the viewer to break down or absorb in these works just a sweltering canopy of movement and colour which is where we’re dropped off to wonder. There is so much vigour and veracity in shallow ponds, if you went outside you’d be surprised to find there’s just as much life and joy below your nose than the whole world can provide. In a room no bigger than a few metres squared, wonderful things can reside, if we take them to be just as mystified. These paintings are when your eyes meet your own in the reflection in a passing bus as you stand by the lights. Driving past the home you grew up in but barely having a second to remember anything. In sunlight, it’s only the surface of the river that shimmers, I want to see that, albeit my room is a bit dimmer. “
This painting’s name is a poem I wrote and exhibited beside the piece.
“We went to a hall of mirrors. It had never really dawned on me that I was so tall, or that I had such a nose. I know for you, I was all that you saw. You’d been here before, so you’d watch and placate my attempts to escape or find ways to go.
Your home was an ochre gold, your kitchen out looked the red stone yard. Shaded and dark by three large multiple story walls, imposingly they found little me, so small, and stared loathingly.
You’d tell me all about the art and what they meant as you put mine up amongst them. I’d sit at the head of the dining table and stare at the dozen pots hanging above the stove. Then watch the back of your head while the steam wreathing made the room close with an unsettlingly ambient, still feeling.
Rhythmically clinking the wooden spoon around some fish and vegetable stew. We abided quietly in the gaps and waited for our due.
We’d sit in chairs made of bamboo littered with leafs by an ankle glass table. I’d smoke and listen to you ramble. About gays in the eighties, aids or even occasionally straight ladies. I could roll that sliver coin of moonlight between my fingers, refractions from the steel framed grape vines. Loudly they scrambled and clambered in the wind as i’d listen, contribute and learn so as our time would continue.
Then twenty minutes past nine, I’d say my good nights and a thank you.”