New Work

'The Sad Young Man' - 2009 (Acrylic, Ink, Pencil, Collage on MDF)
One of the two new paintings in this years end of year exhibition.

The End of the Beginning

Click on the image above to find out more information about the Leeds College of Art and Design 2009 End of year show, entitled 'The End of the Beginning'.

Life Drawing - An Interview With Two Halves Part 1

This is a follow up from a previous post.

Welcome, Karl -.

Karl-: Hi

This meeting was scheduled for tomorrow but I wanted to bring it forward to today.
OK
And I think you know why

I think so.

Because you’re drunk.

I am drunk, yes.

How long have you been drunk?

I guess it’s nearly 24 hours now.

Do you get drunk a lot?

You know, not often any more. In fact you’re lucky to catch me, since the last time we spoke I don’t get out much.

I understand Karl+ is the more dominant force at the moment.

You could say that, yes. I didn’t go without a fight though (laughs)!

I understand you nearly died.

That’s a little bit dramatic. I was enjoying myself, that’s all.

But you nearly destroyed the body that you and Karl+ inhabit, surely that’s going to affect you as well?

I don’t think like that.

So tell me about the last 24 hours then, how did this come about?

We’ve been very busy, and I noticed that our body was getting more exhausted, deadlines and exercise make us strong and alert but we can’t go long, and I basically noticed Karl+ drop his guard, so to speak, so I took over. Just for a break, you know.

You make it sound like a holiday.

I guess it is.

And Karl+ doesn’t mind?

Oh he does, he’ll beat me up later about it but he’s got to get over the hangover first (laughs)!

Did you do much damage?

No, no. I don’t really do that anymore. Just a bit of mischief, you know.

So where did you go?

I just went out drinking on my own to cool off, like old times. I was stood in this persons living room and took off all my clothes, flexed my muscles in a mirror and I turned to this guy and said, ‘you know I’m a complete narcissist’ and he said ‘yea, I know’, at which point he proceeded to chew on my nipples. Then I came on his face. Tell me it’s possible to not have a warped self image when people are willing to do that for you.

So you’re saying that the fact that people want sexual contact with you gives you a warped self image?

I think anybody who is sexually attracted to me has to be slightly self destructive, yes.

Why do you say that?

Because I’m a generally unhealthy option.

So do you see many men?

Not anymore, Karl+ doesn’t really let me play out enough.

And how does that make you feel?

We used to live side by side, once. We used to inhabit this body and push and pull and fight all the time but it worked. Since I got a bit carried away a while ago he kind of put his foot down.

You’re talking about the suicide attempt?

I’m not allowed to talk about it.

You’re not allowed? Is that a Karl+ rule?

Yea it is actually. I don’t push it, I think if he tried hard enough he could wipe me out completely. We have an understanding. I know where the line is.

So if Karl+ could get rid of you completely, why doesn’t he?

Why do you think? I’m good company. He pretends to be a clean living soul but secretly he’s glad I exist to take over once in a while. He’s relieved of the responsibility that way. With me around it’s like guilt-free carnage. I’m the life and soul of the party, without me he’s just a nerd with a lot of scars.

Men Used to be Strong

Happy Holidays

We're Here, We're Queer...So Tell Us What To Think.

Only last month I mentioned how important I felt it was to keep certain gay issues on the top of the agenda, and how important I felt it was to read gay press to keep abreast of certain arguments. One thing I failed to take into consideration, however, is that all press: gay, straight, broadsheet, tabloid, local, should try to present a balanced view, in order to properly represent its readership. Pretty simple, you might think. Journalism 101, you would imagine.

Bias reporting was and is still responsible for the spread of mis-information and promotes the acceptance of prejudice. With that in mind, then, imagine my shock when reading the Pink Paper, arguably one of the most respected gay publications in circulation, and it’s headline ‘Amazon sells us up the river’.

For those unfamiliar with the article, Pink Paper reported internet retailer Amazon’s decision to stock ‘homophobic material’. I won’t repeat the details of the article here, but be assured that the titles in question were indeed pretty questionable in their choice of topics. Amazon’s cavalier response in defending this material was that they did not condone or endorse any opinion expressed by any author and/or artist and would therefore continue to stock ‘controversial material’ claiming – correctly in my opinion – that not doing so would be tantamount to censorship. Remember also that Amazon probably have the largest back catalogue of gay material in the world. Amazon’s clear, sweeping policy on censorship appears to me to be the very best option. Obviously one retailer allowing the censorship of homophobic material would be identical to other retailers promoting it, or refusing to stock gay material.

If all of this seems glaringly obvious to you – and recent responses from readers in the latest issue of Pink Paper implies that it is – allow me to refer you back to the headline. Just who is this ‘Us’ that Pink Paper so brazenly refers to? I certainly don’t recall ever receiving any form electing a governing body to represent my views and express opinions that I never had. That’s what the Government is for, surely?

Pink Paper implying that there is a solid, single minded society of highly strung homosexuals somewhere implies exactly what all of these crazy religious extremists have suspected all along, that somehow ‘we gays’ have banded together in preparation for some sexual holy war. The Paper have demonstrated a shocking lack of tact and, in doing so, have implied that they are not merely a publication aimed at a gay demographic but are, in fact, a propaganda newsletter for some ominous homo-army.

If I missed something, though, I’d like to take this opportunity to politely bow out and resign my position in this mysterious, militant ‘Us’ society that Pink Paper have so presumptuously created on my behalf. Anybody else wishing to do the same, I advise you all to write to them personally. They may be surprised that other gay people outside of their office exist, of course, but give them some slack, they’re too busy running the Gay Government after all.

Artwork: 'Facebook' - 2008

James Dean

I’m lying on the sofa, head swirling, burning. My throat aches and I’m cursing the previous night. Cursing myself. I’m sweating profusely. I can’t get enough water and my head is throbbing, I feel as though it will lift off and jettison into the sky. My eyes feel heavy. I tried having a bath, then a shower, but the water seemed to evaporate as it touched my skin, rolling off my body leaving a hot, dry skeletal wraith leaning against the cold tiles. Everything seems dry, even the water.

I’m scanning through my mobile phone in utter despair as I read the reams and reams of text messages I fired out at an alarming rate, lost in the fog of alcohol induced frenzy, dreamy, faded memories that are sharpening up into violent, vibrant colour as I read them all. Sometimes I read them aloud, as if speaking the words will somehow justify the nonsense I was apparently spewing out.

‘Not Today. Feel like hiding.’

‘Is everybody out of control?’

‘Really want...now’

Message Sent. Sent. Sent. Sent at 6. Sent at 10. Sent at midnight, 4am...drunk, desperate. Lonely.

I battle through the third or fourth nicotine craving, my hands tearing up shreds of paper. Writing, writing, writing, drawing dogs.

I’m watching East of Eden. I cry as James Dean, as Cal, reaches out to his father, face contorted, sobbing, money in his hand. I cry and cry. I know every part. I am every part. Every moment of that pain I live and relive with him. I want to hold him, I want to be outside when he runs away and catch him. Hold him in my arms. But mostly I want him to hold me. I know he’d understand. I cry for James Dean, cry for anybody who ever passed in a car crash, any crash, any collision or mishap with a machine seems so cruel and unnatural to me. It’s a death we created ourselves.

Somehow this burning hangover feels like the most unnatural cruelty for me. What did I do? I think to myself. Too much of a good thing. Candle at both ends. Hair of the dog that bit you. The dog that bites you, the big, black, feral dog that haunts me, constantly circling, always there, bearing its yellowed, tobacco stained teeth.

Maybe James Dean can save me.

Artwork: 'Inbetween' - Monoprint on cotton - 2008