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Paint.

work in progress, as always

People cant judge you if you have nothing. To exist you have something, therefore people must judge you. Enter the whirlpool of society, bleed it, use it, be it, make it. it is what you want it to be. you are part of it; if you choose to be. why not? everyone wants to be fabulous, rich, skinny, beautiful, adored and admired. Fall into make believe, unreality, a false sense that feels unreal but has a life. Maybe its tainted but who fucking cares. Its fabulous. Sensational. A dream life. One would die for it. Steal it, pretend to have it. Live for eternity. Are you searching for it? You want it dont you? Well you cant have it. Its unreachable. People have it. Really, they do. Its not obtainable to you. You can never have it. Reach for the bloody stars, they are glittering all of them, each of them, sparkling in multitudes of colourations. Screaming for that something; that fear to end all fears, that reaching, grabbing humanity that we have all become, desperate to live a life thats printed in pictures, told in moving, magnified pictures. Maybe its so part of your self you dont know it. You could search, its entirely up to you, really. Seeping trashy injections & its cold wonders, soft amusement parks, and taught fleshy rose flushed pink glitter splinters.

push and click

Oxford Brookes Foundation Art and Design - Exhibition 2010

Swinging chandeliers, drifting asleep, dreaming of other places and other times. Trashy realms of unreality and unconsciousness. Whirlpools of gloss, sequins shining, blurring pounding noises, voices, hazy, racing hearts,
multi-coloured sparkling fizziness, multi-coloured stars dancing. Celebrations, confetti, parties and general nostalgia, along with a whirlwind of mess and debris left behind.

Childhood nostalgia and memories of eating leftover pavlova for breakfast in the dining room; ruby raspberries and sweet whipped cream sprinkled with edible glitter. The golden chandelier in the center of the room, submerged, dripping from exploded party poppers. Party rings, fireworks, sticky face-paints, and party games. Oily paint and pastel pigment smudges. Stick on earrings.

I am interested in the people at parties and celebrations. How they define themselves and their ephemeral existence in this often hyped-up, fake, and superficial world. A world that is meaningless other than what we create in it.

In this escape from reality a dream world is created, a powdered fantasy, a lurid lie, encrusted with gemstones and coated in rose tinted, sugary spectacles.

Purple Turtle

credits - Wozniak