The Imps of Spring

I call them The Imps. They are together. They want fun. They’ve been to the supermarket. They have no gender. They don’t notice they're white.

They live in a vacuum. Brexit/Trump is not a context. Cynicism doesn't exist. They don't like structuralism, post-structuralism or fancy french words and paradoxes. They're oblivious to faux pas of certainty. Existing like a 10p bag, suffering failure but always surviving. I forgive them for naivety.

The series uses clown principles to peruse optimism, politics and self care. The first painting The Imps of Spring was exhibited at The Castle Open, Nottingham 2015, Its re-incarnation Teeth and Other Non-Green Things at SOTD’s Interim Show at Assembly House, Leeds 2016, The Third was show at SOTD's Absolute 100% Genuine Certified Degree Show Part 1 (SET, London) and Part 2 (The Royal Standard, Liverpool) 2017

Dear Friend

Dear Friend, call me they...

I’ve realised i am a packet of horse grade peanuts,

With internal politics and hierarchies.

One of them can’t understand why another one likes you;

They think your a cunt.

Swazzies

A swastika is a bit like a daddy long legs,

It has poison in but not the teeth to bite.

If you see a swastika get a glass and a book,

catch it humanely and let it out the window.

Try not to overreact, scream, trip up, fall out a window, backwards,

And end up supporting a genocide in the Middle East out of guilt.

Alright? 

Procrastination Department

If i was to write an artist statement now wot would it be like?

Something about magick...

Wot does magick feel like?

And how is it to be happy, with cynicism on all sides.

Wot’s it like to plead irony (falsely) to protect oneself from those who cant take joy?

“I wish i was like you, easily amused” 

Wot about being the same age as all your “idols” when they killed themselves?

Wot belief helps me?

And, how can i take you with me?

So your not still out there...

Where the faux nihilism can hurt you. 

-Dunno.

But, i’ve figured out how to make my practice sustainable; And its nothing to do with economics...

It involves not so much making, but plenty of oil and lemon. 

Something about The School of The Damned 

Sex, disco, doing shit for free and following impulses.

Though not the ones about head butting people who miss status you as “middle class”

...Whatever the fuck that means.

Offering clown seasonings to abstract sustenance,

Traditional Sélavic greetings (pecking),

Why? Because!

Anything that can be described as a nodule.

Not being afraid of my own vulva.

Not being afraid to tell people i’m not afraid.

Believing i’m on holiday; “I bloody paid for this, so i’ll bloody well enjoy it!”

De maculating peoples ideas without alienating their spirit (including myself)

Things were shitty,

Gnawing hard rifle butts.

Had my heart decimated before i ever had a period.

Had my home desecrated.

Lived in hell but didn’t die there.

Used magick, made it 4am mid-summer when it was noon in January.

K-holed, Discovered imagination,

Bitten and broken anything attempting erasure of possibility, and in it found i was not an emperor.

Found i was not special. Found i didn’t need to reclaim my cunt.

Found myself a wolf in sheep’s clothing in “both” genders.

Found i was ovulating.

Huge clods fell off,

Bloody judgements, projections, opinions.

Vile biologically hazardous bits continue too.

Breaking apart in the way... dribbling down my leg.

I’m in love with myself,

Cause i found permission,

And have just about the ability to control it. Just.

But i cant bite my own neck,

So, I need to take you with me,

All of you.

Though i haven’t forgot your all nobs. 

And am not gonna write ANOTHER wanky artist statement.