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Human nature is a chaotic mixture of tendencies and interests
some of which are compatible and some of which are in conflict.
However, such turmoil is often perceived as a weakness.
It is undesirable in our character
and in our efforts to become the ideal of a balanced individual
our conscience sets about censoring and inhibiting our natural instinct.
Our natural instinct
to tear ourselves apart.
When I stand in front of a canvas and begin a painting
it's not such an immediate record of the event of the here and now.
It's more of a history of emotional reaction through the subject.
I find painting the flesh, the bones, of human organ
very fascinating.
I try to use that as an instrument
as a vehicle if you like
of whatever I happen to be felling
about my life or myself.
Now, and how it developed from where do I came from, my beginnings.
As we all do
we all take a journey through life and
the things that we remember are memories based in emotions.
Through emotions a painting can tell a million stories
or reach out and communicate with the viewer who has their own conception of what those painting are about.
But what I 'm trying to do is
is represent on canvas
emotional histories
of my being.
Through my work I seek to strip away the well-established layers of conscious ***
that impede my free expression.
But that's not to say that, in the process, I deny the influence of the conscious character.
The primary motif of "the chair" serves as a metaphor of the psyche
the battleground where both the unconscious, and the conscious, manifest…
If I am to portray through this metaphor the unified reality of my psyche
then turmoil must be present.
And conflict will constantly shape, and give history to the work
through masked
and unmasked layers of creation
destruction
and rebirth.
Wrapped in the solitude of his private occult
the Perfumer smells no other fragrance but that of his own godless feculence.
He strides with *** into the *** that blocks the sewer beneath his conscious soul
He explores raw, unfettered rot.
Distills the musk and bile of trauma and bottles without revulsion.
Confections of its vile stench.
For the troubling odor of man's filth
he seeks no cure.
But at the end of the night's labour
inflamed by the effluence in which he digs
his nostrils will no longer be offended by it
and in the bright *** of the sun's return he will ascend from the stagnant depths
drenched in verdict
expunged
and with a greater need to breathe.
I judge my reaction to them
I generally attack a painting if there is something I'm not comfortable with.
And is just a physical manifestation of me not liking that painting
Actually, just its surface and its emotional and --
and I think --
What you need?
So I do some damage to them --
I can't explain --
Because it hangs well on the wall? I don't know.
Because it's a piece of me that is hanging there and I'll look at it --
Even if they're perfect
I might still hate them.