I’m fascinated in how something may make you feel. For instance, I’m deeply moved by images of outer space from the Hubble space telescope, but I do not try to recreate those photographs in my work. What does not exist in those photos, is how they may make us feel. This is why you won’t see any “realism” in my art. When we send astronauts to space, they can discuss factually what is happening, but what truly moves human beings is when astronauts describe how they felt while they were there. So, I choose to express how I feel, as opposed to illustrate what I see.
I painted the galaxy across 4 5x5 gessoboards . Im hoping to add something to each square for a later picture. I always wanted to draw space but it's harder to do than I thought I'm hoping to do it again in the future.
My first attempt at pixel animation in a long time. This is a still from the animation. it is a bit rusty and I should probably add some more movement to it but for a general concept, for now I'm happy.
An article/rant/annotation to an illustration. A #Hackney bar and its flies.
This picture is not as sad and blue as it might at first seem, I promise.
It is early in the week and the pub becomes the territory of the most outspoken drinkers. Raised somewhere between Churchill and Harold MacMillan, a night such as this is time for them to spin out a yarn of nostalgic fantasy. Encouraged by the lack of a crowd and with space to fill, statements start to fly.
In the opening rounds the barman athletically hits back with factual blocks and reality-check haymakers; statistics and personal experiences are given. Two histories cross examined, one where 1982 means Thatcher and the Falklands, the other renders Reagan and the AIDS crisis. Stoicism and national pride vs mental health and realism.
In the latter rounds the barman is fatigued, swaying on the backbar, glasses begin to stack up as form begins to drop. The older men seem stronger than ever.
The barflies come in close now, they scrutinise his generations work ethic and make wild political comments on poverty, immigrants and the minimum wage.
The barman is close to sheer bloody despair, he maintains his defence and focuses on breathing while maintaining his professional stance.
But at the end of the night the barman knows HE will ring that bell, they will politely leave and they will return again in a week and maybe, just maybe there will be a change, common ground or maybe at least polite silence.
But what these interactions have given despite the salt in the eye is community and an exchange between generations, culture and class of those participating. No home is ever straight forward, no relative without their good and bad traits and in a world where we often slide into echo chambers online or in our physical environments, the pub is still a place where society is family, face to face, pint to pint. Or maybe it's just a room with alcohol on tap?
