Oh boy. I'm knee deep in absurdity - wild eyed and angsty. I'm one Camus novel away from a nervous breakdown... or at the very least an existential crisis.
Hardly. I've been swimming through these pools of irrationality and trying to bake some kind of delightful art pie. I've started working with text - a throw back to my home boys in the world of literature (I'm talking to you Sartre).
Here are some recent text works I've paintstakingly (see what I did there? witty.) transcribed with a 00 brush and a mix of burnt umber and ultramarine blue.
These little vagabonds are being paired with painted plywood squares of banality. I am taking delight in raiding my ever expanding collection of photographs and stealing equally boring images from my good ol' friend the internet. I'm also feeding my vanity and continuing to paint myself in varying degrees of undress.
I've also been up to no good - staging interventions, starting coups. Some might say I'm quite the scoundrel.
I do not over estimate my importance at all... why I've been told my little coup d'état has been instragammed (is that even a verb?) 2 maybe 3 times. Overheard conversations in lifts would also lead me to believe I'm being worshiped in small factions of the art community as a kind of god.
I can live with that.