Conjoined 7

So on the day millions of women from around the world took to the streets against the new dark ages and muddy California Skys cascaded a tumult in accord, a little corner of Bergamont station was marking these times of dark herald, with Chet Zars Conjoined 7.

I could tell you of phantoms and hellions from every corner of the underworld, of mystical dervish shadows from  Hades bubbling craters, but it would be better if you saw it for yourself. After all, Darkness should be the visual anecdote of storytellers, not the reality manifested in halls of power.

Thank you to Gary and Chet, my fellow artists and everyone who braved traffic and downpour , the show is on display through February 11th.

The blind patriot will eat himself

“The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became the truth.”
― George Orwell, 1984

9″x 14″-ink on paper

I say this with full knowledge that I could pull a fistful from a grab bag of ominous portent since Inauguration day, but one of the most distressing things in the wake of Trumpocalypse is the continued willingness of his supporters to be completely blinkered by their cultish loyalty. Even in the face, it seems, in what are glaring, verifiable truths.

I’ve seen this on the other side also-and I get it, there’s comfort to be had in the consensus of delusion that no matter how much your party lies, it will never tell porkies as big as the opposition.

Except to say that within the space of a few days when both his strategist and press secretary have owned up to deploying a mind-boggling multiverse of ‘alternative truths’, even when challenged on the veracity of crowd size and voting fraud,  one need not pole jump to reach for the dark specter of Orwellian doublethink or 2+2=5.

Indeed, I read today that the book that was meant to be a parable of dystopian fiction, is currently a best seller. Old George would be stoked were it not the reason for the season.

I mean fuck me, dip into any page and you could pull out a passage that could be a manifesto to the times we live in. I found at least a dozen in the first few minutes of prefacing this page.

Which is why I knocked together this little drawing ‘The blind patriot will eat himself’, portraying as it does the self-cannibalism and mental gymnastics that the nationalist will go to in service of the body national.

My continued plunder through old Adam Curtis documentaries particularly feels like watching a play by play.

To which end, I recommend his series “The Living Dead” on Youtube. Watch it before the web goes dark.

I wish I felt like I was kidding.

We live in scary times indeed.

Leviathan

Oil on canvas-42″ x 80″

“And because the constitution of a mans Body, is in continuall mutation; it is impossible that all the same things should alwayes cause in him the same Appetites, and aversions; much lesse can all men consent, in the Desire of almost any one and the same Object.
Good Evill”

Thomas Hobbes-Leviathan

Or the great metaphysical war between Hitler and Van Gogh, two historical figures parallel in the singularity of their ambitions, both failed artists within their lifetime,  yet so divided in that failures resolution.  Be it Ego or Id, creator or destructor, the paradox of dualism is manifest.

I realise I’m putting Descartes before the horse here.

I suppose they represent Post-contemporary paragons of the underdog, framing the entire 20th century and beyond. certainly when thinking of Van Gogh as the Godfather of Modern Art, there is the notion that there is some nobility in failure, when the truth so often comes at a cost whether the destruction that manifests is internal or as in Hitler’s case external.  I have to say, a lot of my thinking was informed by reading Artaud’s “Van Gogh: The man suicided by society” Particularly the haunting lines:

“Nobody ever wrote or painted, sculpted, modeled, built, invented, for another reason than to exit from hell. Each paint brush touch/strike (coup de pinceau) on the canvas is worst than an event.”

And yet Adolf had the presence of twisted mind to obliterated that “self-event” by creating Hell on Earth.

Lennon (the fuhrer’s antithesis) said it best when he confessed: “part of me suspects I am a loser, the other part God almighty.”

As I said previously here, it’s taken the best part of five years to bring it to some realisation but given that I completed it a week before the inauguration, the theme is eerily resonant-conjoined twins of diametrically opposed worldview, battling as Babylon falls like a sandcastle, whilst the architect King Nimrod (also an allusion to that other Nimrod totem of destruction) self-combusts in his zealous appetite to reorder the universe.

Having just watched Adam Curtis’s Hypernormalisation and read a recent interview where he perhaps wrongly charges the art world with some of the responsibility for the post-truth, Brexit / Trump outcome, it behooves me to wonder how we as artists can best characterize what we do, given the events and influences that inform us.

The painting will be on show alongside other artists works for Chet Zars Conjoined 7 show at Copro Gallery from January 21st.

Conjoined 7 at Copro

In which a selection of dark, underworld beasts, demonic progeny, and feral fiends shall assemble before a hypnotized throng. No I’m not talking about the inauguration, but Chet Zar’s annual Conjoined show at Copro gallery in L.A of which I shall be honorably participating.

The show opens on the 21’st January, and since at the time of writing, I am still putting the final touches to my largest piece to date, I better get my skates on.

Copronasan Gallery

Bergamot Arts Complex,
2525 Michigan Ave T5,
Santa Monica, CA 90404

Years End 2016

Here comes the fire
Our funeral pyre, baby”

Neil Hannon with the Divine Comedy-Here Comes the Flood

So 2016-the year of the reaper, the year the world lost its collective Reality TV-addled mind and went full tilt Walking Dead.
If the year began with the untimely passing of my greatest idol, it ends with a morticians pool that feels akin to some kind of celebrity rapture. Lest we forget the real horrors of Aleppo and Orlando. death toll the bell.

November brought another death, the year America got a malignant tumor and instead of performing a routine biopsy, decided to vote en masse to let the carcinoma riddle its way like a scourge through every vital organ. Prognosis isn’t good, and it currently lies choking its last, toxic gargled breath on a hallucinatory diet of hate and bitter rancor, stale 1950’s apple pie peppered with Cheeto dust and bullshit.  Experts are worried that unless the infection is contained, it may reach epidemic proportions with mass casualty.

Indeed.

Glibs aside, this sad sack year was party to the loss of two friends and an uncle to cancer. Fuck cancer.

It’s certainly no accident then that the compilation of works from the year, heavily feature some sort of death’s head motif.

On the other hand, my Art career has never looked more buoyant, so there’s that. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.

The supporters, the curators, the gallery’s, my wife, my family and friends.

No small blessings.

And in the post-Brexit, Trumpocalypse, what prospect for the year’s turn one wonders? The totalitarian pall of 1930’s Weimar Germany, the shadow of a reemerging cold war, a civil war, a race war, economic meltdown, genocide, the annihilation of the entire world at the infantile trigger-tweet finger of a despotic lunatic?  Take your pick.

I’ll be in my studio daubing as the world burns.

No better time than the end times after all.

Mourning Star

“Hallelujah noel be it heaven or hell
The christmas we get we deserve”

Greg Lake-I believe in Father Christmas

9″ x 14″ | Biro on paper

It’s that time again, my annual antidote to the Hallmark season of kitsch platitude-although it’s arguable that this year has been one big antidote and fuck you to good will.

So on this first day of the Winter solstice, as an ode to this annus horribilis, this little biro drawing is a constellation of doom and misfortune, grief and ill omen-a flaming tear in the revolving cosmos, more a star of bedlam than Bethlehem.

Regardless, it remains with me to wish everyone, a most blessed and harmonious Saturnalia. It may be our last.

Sláinte-David

Art and Cake Review

“In Van Gough’s vision, the devil is not in the details but in the distractions”

There’s a rather grand review of the recent Dark Realism/ Dark surrealism show at Gregorio Escalante gallery, up on Art and Cake LA.  I’m very grateful to the reviewer for their very astute and intuitive summation of ‘The Devil’-my piece in the show. You can read the full article from the link HERE.

The show is open until the 23rd of this month, so if you are in the area, please take a break from the shopping deluge of tinsel and tat, and soak up something that is more Satan’s grotto than the white bearded fella.