watercolour on paper, 297 × 420 mm, 2012



it seems, it seems to me that art has had a historic failure to come to terms with mundanity, that it has always been elevated. the success of painting generally  has been down to its capacity to confirm class privileges. contemporary art is flushed with a desire to prove the historic failure. convinced that a clean break from the past can separate now from then….


i think we have a problem. maybe a few problems.

what does the world look like from under a microscope and is that sufficient to describe the world and do we want to describe the world, what does that ultimately achieve, can the hormones firing round our body explain what we are and how we see or are they the fuel that takes us places from which we            at what point can we say we act rather than being acted upon and does it matter. and why is there a desire (as the surrealists might have it) for meaning.


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