Jesus Fucking Christ

I saw the cross raised above the horizon.

Rags of thoughtless bones slumped against the mounds were easily remembered and drawn by thoughtless drones.

Christ; every day, every fucking way and every fucking way the thieves seek salvation.

And the Bishops stare with greedy recognition of expectation.

Doomed; the feasting viewers unknown to their fate amongst thieves and rags and the corpse on the mound.


Useless use of Ulysses? You decide you who use usibilties.

Dedalus! You scoundrel you,

Affected me, Your Blindness, you pig!

Violet bursts,

In amongst wine, to see it, to hurt,

Delicious crimson waves break.


Bring me a head!

Ovid screams,

Young men crying

Dear loved ones:


Gather the Harvest since,


Artist sketchbook in words.

As I sit writing this I have three framed canvases with which to work.

I have a plan for one of them that may require the purchase of two more framed canvases.

My concern here is with two and what follows will give an indication in the conviction and simultaneous trepidation of an interpretation for exhibition.

The two framed canvases are exact in dimension and almost in appearance; one has more cobwebs on the back. Both also have different paintings on the front of the canvas, which will become the back.

Seeing as these two objects are very similar I wonder what I’m going to do to them. Use them as two objects to make one work? Establish a connection between the two objects through imagery, title, or theme?

I’ve drawn many different ideas and so far not one has “appeared” as something worthwhile. This enhances simultaneous feelings of anxiety and excitement. This may even be the theme I’m looking for. Through writing and describing the objects and possibilities, I am, in a sense, scribbling in a sketchbook.

 “‘Anxiety and Excitement’, not a bad theme; if I can draw something that may suggest these sensations…”

So, Anxiety and Excitement. How are the two connected? Can I translate the idea into an image or concept? If it becomes conceptual then one appears to move an idea about feeling into an idea about thinking about feeling.  Maybe, I exhibit the works untouched by me and title one Anxiety and the other Feeling……Freudian slip!….Excitement.



Slash or cut Anxiety?

Slash or cut Feeling?

Slash or cut Excitement?

Slash or cut Benefits?

Slash or cut the Arts?

“              “              Education?


…………..”How high do I hang the work….if they’re placed just high enough to cause the viewer’s head to tilt back, even slightly, then this could have connotations of the work being a bit “Hallelujah!”, which can be used to suggest things when considered where its place is amongst the other works.”…….

I know Abramovich! I know Ono!

I know Schiele! I know Picasso! I know Moore!

I don’t know what to do.

I like sculpting paint – in a manner of speaking – but can I sculpt using a knife cutting into a canvas? I guess yes. Painting may or may not be an illusion. One can create illusions without paint. One can create an illusion of perfect existence. One can also create an illusion of non-perfect existence. Illusions seem to me to be very powerful and can be used for great or terrible purposes. An illusion of great wealth and military strength when millions are living in poverty has the potential to be recognised by many people living in “wealthy” countries today.

If “Rich and Poor” is seen as a cliché then surely we’ve lost our way? (By the way, the Spell Correct function suggested to non-capitalise the p in poor. Of course there are grammatical rules to follow, however if Poor cannot be recognised as a title then it makes sense to increase the availability of the resources available to the richest including finance, health facilities and education to the great many without the means to do so. If Poor cannot be written down without a facility that draws one’s attention to an error then we may do well to redress this problem.)

Anxiety – what to do?

Excitement – earning money from this work?

Feeling – terrible?

It “has” to come back to something. What has to come back to something is not something I’m aware of….in a way…..come back to something. Cyclical. Redemption? Love? Partner? Chain? Events? No end. There is no end.

There is no “end”.

There is no end!

What a relief! (Except….concerning E-prime language the use of….)

There may be no end.

No end appears.

There appears to be no end.

Best said in a quintessential English accent taking care to pronounce, very carefully, one’s pees, qews, tees hand hesses.

There appears to be no end!

So, best get on with it then eh?!

Sacred Sexual Beasts

Artist Statement……..again

I was born Monday 1st August 1977 and I’m, essentially, a painter. Sometimes I use a knife instead of a brush; a controlled act of violence.

A painting can be more than the image on, or what is cut out of, a canvas. It can be the object as a whole; frame, title (essential), or empty space in the canvas. The “happy accidents” in the paintings are those I do not make; the original artist’s notes scrawled on the canvas, the gallery’s stamp or any other marks, dust, cobwebs etc. , that root the work to a past life or event that I have some intangible connection with.

Cutting into an existing painting causes me to think about the artist responsible for the original work and the absurdity in my actions: What right do I have to do this? What would the artist think of my involvement? Through the process of hand-cutting into a painting, I maintain a personal connexion with the work by using skills associated with traditional drawing and painting.

If I choose to cut a value from the canvas this value could be related to personal events, witty or critical observations, or context, as well as being the price of the work. Why should one work cost more than another? There is no escaping how much one has paid for one of these works, but I will always make one that, arguably, anyone can afford to buy. You will have to be alert or serendipitous.

 As I age my work becomes increasingly personal and more valuable to me. Of importance is the responsibility in enabling thoughts that may question our identity, philosophy, beliefs, ideas, and actions. They are my expressions in an increasingly entropic world.

If I live until Saturday 1st August 2054, I will be 77 years old and may no longer make art…


So, what happened since the recent “re-introduction” to myself?

After the most recent experience, I’ve meditated during the morning as a point of reminding myself the morning may be the best time to do it; a start to the day that eases the confusion one may think, feel, experience, act upon. Well, I meditated a number of times. Each time during the morning.

Curtains drawn? Yes. (Nice.)

Fairy lights on? Yes. (Excellent.)

Pillows arranged? Yes. (I’m looking forward to this.)

Comfortable? Very. (Here we* go.)

*we – used “automatically”. Maybe this is a figure of speech, however the fact that I use “we” when writing this from memory may suggest I’m still seeing myself as two people; opposites, or the anima and animus that are not one. Light and shadow.

Each meditation experience has been more difficult to achieve than the one described in my preceding post. I’m aware of not actively trying to reach any state or point through meditating.

One of the things I have to be cautious of is recalling the memory. Oliver Sacks has written about this and he offers more delightful, strange, and important findings of how accurate our memories may be. []

What is my memory of meditating that seemingly pure experience? It’s written down and, maybe, forever found online. A permanent record of a transitory experience.

I must experience the experience!

“It’s a bit Spinal Tap upon reflection” said I.

“It sure is. Profound and funny. All the best things appear so.”

Was I trying to reach a previous point? I’ve made a common error.

An immense drain is put upon one’s intelligence when one tries to recreate a certain idealised state. This state can be achieved through various practices that may or may not reduce one’s bank balance and life expectancy. If one becomes aware of a possible fracture in the journey towards contentment then one may be advised to consider what contentment means.

Can you be content?

If I answer, “yes, however it depends on assuming contentment is an intangible aspiration that may, nevertheless, be achieved sporadically.”, then I may have helped with my next meditative experience. Although, if you think about it, this appears a contradiction.

The thing that appears apparent may be the total immersion in nothingness although this might be impossible as nothing cannot exist in the mind of knowing nothing. I doubt the integrity of that sentence, but it seems a nice mouthful of words to feed the brain.

What’s for dessert?

The sweet titbit of understanding how drugs work leads to the seemingly unsavoury knowledge that the majority of my experiences have been a long anaesthetic experience that has numbed any aesthetic experience I could achieve through acuity. Maybe my acumen needs sharpening.

What may be of importance is achieving a state of immersion that is neither real nor false. If the experience appears real it may be false and if it appears false it may be real. Either way the experience may or may not have happened, but something happened to lead to a blissful Schrödinger hypothesis during stasis.

Through art I do?

Through life I do?

In art I do?

In life I do?

On the toilet I do?

In marriage I do.

Through marriage I do?

With Emma through art and marriage I do?

I do.

I don’t think I have the knowledge to use “I”.

I think I may be incorrect.

Hmmm… it looks like being another fun day doing what I do. Soberly.

If I am sober than when I am not I go higher.

When I go higher I come back to a point when sober that may have been higher than before.

As long as the aim “is” good.

Mmmmmm………… ….. .. … BOOP!

One of my favourite artists is Alex Grey who appears on the Joe Rogan podcast found here: Alex Grey creates beautiful paintings.

Whilst listening to the podcast a thought occurred, “Today I’m going to do something I haven’t done for a long time, yet I’ve known that I probably should have been doing it for a while.”

The curtains were drawn; fairy lights switched on; cushions arranged on the bed. Sitting cross-legged on the bed; wrists resting by my knees, palms upturned…close eyes and begin to breathe deeply.

What usually happens or seems to happen in my mind involves light being breathed in and dark, inky, swirling smoke being exhaled. Nice! Today was(?) quite amusing. It seemed like a demon was being expelled….Hallelujah!

I don’t believe a demon lives in me. I may be the demon….

Every exhalation expels something not useful. Every inhalation brings in new sensations.

The visions behind my eyes flicker and flash except my eyes aren’t screwed tight they are relaxed and feel warm. They begin to hum. Each hum comes with a flash and gets quicker and quicker. I am very warm. My breathing just happens.

My frontal lobes feel warm…between my eyes a lilac coloured, messy, fried-egg shaped blob begins to swirl. Blue lines – or are they veins or are they arteries – flash across the fried egg. It begins to coalesce into a sphere. Blue erratic lines appear from the centre and two enter my eyes that begin to tingle. The sphere begins to rise higher. As it does a spherical lattice coned tunnel appears. It retreats to a point in a distance and begins to rotate. It is made of hundreds of little bits.

This is so fucking cool…

As the sphere floats higher and higher eyes appear in each bit of the tunnel. The sphere goes higher and the tunnel now starts to move around. The whole begins to flash. (I wonder if it was to do with my pulse…)

Oh, I’ve just realised my head is tilting back…I’m beginning to look upwards.

As the sphere leaves my head, I flex my anus. It’s important to keep rooted…should I become aware I’ve not attached myself to the earth. Plus it may help reduce the possibility of a big ol’ fart that may end this experience with a collapse into giggles. It may be on a good note on which to end.

As it feels like my head can’t tilt any further back, four coloured balls of light erupt from my body and fly around the room and at the same time shoot straight forward. I think of guns, knives, war, and famine. The balls are coloured blue, green, red, and yellow. These come from regions in the body known as Chakras. The chakras in my experience came from the heart, solar plexus, abdomen, and what should have been the base of the spine, but in my experience came from my genitals. Nice.

I wonder what happens if I lose control? I see guns, knives, explosions…things which cause harm. I realise I am capable of causing harm. I have the potential to inflict terrible things. I don’t. I know these things are all around, but they’re not important to an extent.

There is nothing to fear except fear itself!

Bullshit. You cannot fear a noun. Fear exists when created.

God (got) to love that pot…

My smile is huge… really huge. I’m sure my cheeks are in front of my eyes…

And then I slowly return to….

I’m not sure. I’ll meditate about this next time.

KckTye – A response imagined and written with mistakes.

Lophophora williathemsii, known by its common name of peyote, is a spineless cactus found in southern Texas and northern Mexico.

Loopy William-Themes II, or Dicky the Second, was a nervous, paranoid wreckage of exquisitely arranged intelligent cells. For some reason everyone he met praised him for showing them “the way”.  Loopy had no idea what they meant. He enjoyed chili and other things.

Although the flowers on the cactus do not bloom on a regular basis, when they do appear, they produce a pink fruit that is edible.

Loopy had an embarrassing involuntary physical reaction whenever he was in the company of someone he saw as attractive. Acceptance was often orally communicated. And some swallowed everything. They were the attractive ones; soulful, naïve, innocent eyes betraying their wild, almost, trance-like behaviour. They need and want and are satisfied. “If they swallow that” thought Loopy, “they’ll swallow anything!” As soon as he thought he’d thought of it and then written it down on the only available piece of paper, which happened to be a correspondence informing him of an appointment with a friendly mental health practitioner, he began to weep with joy.

“I AM a charlatan!” he announced with despair, although if you looked carefully there was a smile.

Interestingly enough, the purpose of the mescaline found in the peyote cactus is to repel potential predators.

Loopy often thought about this paradox/conflict/schism/…” Nature involves my having a mechanism with which I can repel predators; salespeople, priests, bishops, politicians – except Chris Bryant – righteous, manipulators of the mind. Isn’t it amazing Derren Brown does good things? Think of what he could do.”

And then Loopy remembered what he wanted to remember from reading this article, which he knew would increase his ego because he’d already mentioned how clever he was at the time. The funny thing; since this was written, doubt has begun to set in. Maybe it’s not as funny as you thought. Maybe you should get back on topic.

The cactus is very small and has no spines to provide protection, so it instead produces mescaline. The mescaline causes a severe reaction in animals that eat it. From then on, those unfortunate enough to eat the mescaline will avoid it in the future.

“If you’re no more than an animal” shouted Loopy, “then you deserve whatever comethgh. If you want to be the Alpha Male go ahead. If you can.”

Peyote is currently listed as an endangered species, due to over-harvesting and slow growth in the wild. Cultivated peyote grows somewhat faster, but still takes at least three years to mature. The cactus is limited to a very small region, so the rate at which it is being depleted is alarming. When grown and used in a sustainable manner, peyote can provide a number of spiritual and cultural benefits to the Indian tribes that use it.

There are many artists. Beware any that declare their art as being “correct”, “informed”, “true”, “false”, etc., Cultivation and protection are necessary. You wouldn’t cultivate and protect – as honestly as best you could – a fragile living thing? Beware of increasing opportunities for other people to make something of you that you didn’t intend. Mind you, it’s their bad experience. If used correctly then one may experience joy regardless of distance although the greater distance does encourage inspiration.  Interestingly a degree course in fine art lasts three years. Some degree of maturity may have been reached before, during, or after those three years. To date: there are no Indian tribes that I’m aware of that know about or have seen my art.

“Thank you for your time.”

“No, bloody, worries mate!”