CosmiKnot

Celts: Art and Identity – The British Museum As an exhibition this was a major influence of my Deadend works in how it openly struggled to present an ostensibly unknowable culture within the structuralist framework of received knowledge. It highlighted the problem of analysing (a) culture through the fixed parameters of current evidence based frameworks. There could be no clearer illustration of the distortion or impasse created by subject object separation. Each age projects an idea of itself onto the past – this is particularly apparent within the industrial Victorian romanticisation of the Celt. This apparent presentation of subjectivity as truth is what Cultural Materialism and Nonrepresentational theory redress. Gundestrup Cauldron C150-50 BC

Clunk stir clunk Whir whir click Swish swish thunk Gurgle click whir clack Spray sheeesh click clock Stir twirl twirl sheeesh Clunk stir clunk Spray sheeesh buzzzzzzz Clackety hummmmm Stirry click tick tac gurgle Tinkle tinkle drop drip Gurgle gargle drip spurt Clunk click hum mmm Spray weeeesh prrrr stir Stir stir Beep beep Beep beep Weeeeerrrr Weeeeerrrr Peeeeesh Clunk stir clunk Whir whir click Swish swish thunk Gurgle click whir clack Spray sheeesh click clock Stir twirl twirl sheeesh Clunk stir clunk Spray sheeesh buzzzzzzz Clackety hummmmm Stirry click tick tac gurgle Tinkle tinkle drop drip Gurgle gargle drip spurt Clunk click hum mmm Spray weeeesh prrrr stir Stir stir Beep beep Beep beep

When the art is from the heart the viewer will always see what's in their own.

my hand with this pen this pen in this hand declares my love declares my love for you my love for you declares my eyes this pen perceives my love for you declaring for you my love declaring This love for you I feel Here on this paper I feel love for you Each looping letter on flowing Full of love and longing Your face and eyes I see with my mind's eye seeing As my hand moves My hand moves across the space Declaring my love My love for the blissful worlds within Your face reminds me Not to refrain from longing

Here is a link to a comic strip I've done with a long standing friend and interrogator The Aug Stone. I love Aug's affinity to a natural state of wonder, which made making the comic a total pleasure. He gave me free rein with clear instructions as to the setting. Writing a comic is much more than just filling in speech bubbles. Aug has created an existential miss-en-scene without breaking sweat. His visualisation of the scenario is genuinely bizarre and dreamlike without feeling contrived. Funnily enough Aug thinks that the story is perhaps too obviously personal but I've been working on it a while and it still intrigues and niggles away at my unconscious. The story seems to lead towards a meaning but never wholly explains itself, which is exactly what I want from a tale, rather than a moral observation or rousing resolution. Click the picture to see the whole thing.

In June last year I installed my Doctorate painting exhibition at UEL. I don’t like to say it was about David Bowie’s song Life on Mars, though not because it wasn’t (it was) but because I’m not sure it was “about” anything. It was more an attempt to capture some kind of essence that I felt Bowie represents. One of the things I love about Bowie from that song onwards is how he captures the meaninglessness of modern life but fills his songs with meaning. The meaning, however, is not something easy to put your finger on. It is more like a feeling of yearning and hope in the face of… well yes meaninglessness. You might think I’m being pretentious but this depth of feeling is what keeps us as humans dreaming that we can ultimately connect through creative experience. That is partially what Bowie means to me. He can be viewed as the personification of Camus’ urge to live life as fully and creatively as possible in response to the Sisyphusian struggles we all face. But let me be clear...

white feather As I lay on the black disc of the 8 ft in Demeter trampoline entombed by netted walls staring down the wishing well of infinity curve blue a small white cloud was dropped into the azure field of my vision. Whereupon it became A tiny fluffy white feather thousands of miles above the earth falling silently like a speeding weightless bullet onto the tip of my right big toe. What does this mean? I wonder staring at the clouds. Oh I give up.