Collage, digital color print, 13 x 19 inches
Collage, digital color print, 13 x 19 inches
Collage, digital color print, 13 x 19 inches
Fantabulosas 22 January 2026 (No song and dance. Just the business.)
A walk in the woods. Snow comes down. Rain does the rest. Drops sit on the painting’s plane. The line minds itself. Then it don’t. Ebb and flow. Same as ever.
There’s a smirk on that face over here. Over there, two flames having a fire. You clock it. You keep moving. Apples and pears, up and down, even when there’s nowhere to go.
Some images stick like chewing gum. Eye. Hand. Mug that looks back at you. Circles. Stars. Signs. All neat as a penny, all wrong rounded up. You know the score.
The eyes go gray. Bit jaundiced. Gone off. Still game. Knackered but upright. Yellowed. Green round the gills. White face slapped on. Clown work. Red nose, tip shining. Brows wiped out. Scruff and stubble scratch as we kiss roughly. Built like he can take it. Looks like he already has.
Everyone’s got a price. It’s bread and butter.
Old hat. The way things land. Trouble and strife in the air, even if no one says a word. And none does.
Oh, behave now. All the time. It wears you down. Eyes everywhere. Ears flapping. Dog and bone. You pick it up because you always do.
Life comes in layers. Printed. Painted. Scribbled over. Smashed up and glued back. Trays. Tiles. Plates. Shields. Bits of bodies laid out proper. Arms. Hands. Heads. Chest. Torso. Thigh. Bits and bobs, done up tidy.
Monsters. Blokes. Choir boys in tight French collars.
Gay bars on last call. Shadows in the alley. Sticky floors. What gets done behind the bike sheds. Queer as a three-bob note. Acolytes hanging about. Altars stripped bare. Relics passed hand to hand. No song and dance. Just the business.