why cant you look at my melting face?

to follow will be a series of pieces, mostly collage, that intended to explore the idea of mutation, and primarily our reactions to it. a doctor once said that until he came face to face with someone with a severe deformity, that he had not realised how important it was to look at that person without wincing, as not to cause offence. he said that the patient knew exactly what he looked like and there was no need for any of us to highlight this. however flinching at the sight of something uncomfortable is an instinctive reaction, which i think stems initally from pity, rather than disgust.
the following pieces are all on A4, and i decided to keep the scale small so as to force the viewer to really stare into them. to try and make them think about why they find it so difficult to look a mutations and where this stems from, or some shit like that.



CLICK TO ENLARGE

se xx y indeed

http://www.myspace.com/thexx

the xx-
these hypnotic south londoners have been whispering in my ear ever since the start of the year and have so far guided me safely from the romantic breakdowns of january to the shitty rainy haven of july. but i would definately not be here, and not in this (given imperfect but-) pleasently alright state, without their irresistable power. rarer to find than an actual warm chicken bake from greggs on a cold summers day is to find is a band that sparks an instant connection on such a personal level that they actually affect the way you think about your life and the decisions you make that day. which is percisely what ive found with this band. theres something almost numbing about their music, a peacful numbing like. maybe the xx could be dope for the skint generation.

they immediately grabbed themselves the 4 'top played' spaces on my new laptop's itunes. come valentines, they were still holding pole positions, more than 20 plays above the mae shi, kotki dwa and moldy peaches who straggled behind.

same story for st georges day. and then it was my birthday, through which i found myself coaxed, transfixed by their delicate sound. for me this delicacy feels like the raw product of a fiery rage, the origin - a deeply personal angst, that is wielded and directed, moulded and compressed, swirled through a ricketty, magical d.i.y music factory with webs of steaming copper pipes and little umpa-lumpas in cocorosie tshirts, before trickling out of the otherside in the form of balearic sonic heaven.

this is easily the most exciting bunch of mp3 demos ive listened to since jamie t's pre release mixtapes/early album leakage.
headrush at the fact im seeing both in the next few months!



crystalised, the xx
on young turks
debut album out soon
a good mate of mine thinks the singer would look like eminem if he was bald?
hes oddly handsome though. (rather unlike eminzemz)

oh precious, precious precious taft.

CLICK TO SEE FULL IMAGE


oil paints on hexagonal canvas in a sink (hexagonal canvas costs 2£ less than rectangular, fact)

study from


xfactor and the likes really need to up the bar. i mean comeon, think how much mobilephones have improved since 1983! so how come were stuck watching men fart into microphones?

i love you precious, i really love you, you and your little black dress, you and your little face, oh precious, that was beautiful

sorry for ringing last night mrs police lady, it might have been a false alarm...

impromptu house parties are definately one of the only small joys of our fucking waste generation. that is, of course, unless its your turn to be the hostess with the moststress. and yes, it has to be your turn sometime, so none of this im-a-goer-not-a-thrower catshit!

although after forcing yourself to drink three times as many rum shots as you can handle, purely to drown the constant worry about whether or not your skitzy mate will freak and spitroast the rabbit, theres nothing better than rooting out 20 stinkin teens on sunday morning and grinning inside, knowing that at least 5 of them will let you vom up in their bathroom sometime within the next year because of your sacrifice this weekend.

last night, and this morning, and then that heavenly bout of time inbetween where no thoughts exist apart from the required concentration to hang off each other and jump around to modern lovers, are the three vital stages of a properly correct british house bash.
within these three stages are several standard situations that can be ticked off along side the obvious crates and bottles, DIY ipod/amplifier stereos and your mischevious bunch of chums, to ensure true authentication of this pitiful english tradition.

* pool action; fully clothed, unclothed, consented, unconsented.
* grizzly monch; impulse trips throughout the night to the local 24/7 to buy mr kippling cakes and crisps, prawn crackers, chicken curry and cocopops.
* mid party bedroom squat; 3am mass retreats into the smallest bedroom in the house and acoustic set including a dock of the bay cover .
* waking up to some new wall art; group midnight painting sessions including on each other, the walls, windowsillx and roof, finding war poetry written by your window.
* chain smokers galore; dirty mid party scavving, zippo lighters and homemade lighter fuel.
* vicious arguments amongst the girls, mindless playfights
* mid party baths; and maybe or maybe not silhoutted steamy bath action, partly visible from the garden, thanks to the pitch black night and bright white lightbulbs.
* the pikey nutter drinking stella that tries to crash in.
* complaining neighbours on your doorstep in navy blue dressing gowns.
* SOMEONE sicking up on the floor to roof glass slidey door
* and of course the classic jack daniels/white lightening toxic cocktail induced temporary romance.

top it off by waking up with different coloured skin due to an early morning paint fight and you'll probably succeed in sorting out your wet, sticky and fragile circle of friends with shit to chat about for the next few hours.
just make sure you have a couple of them who love you enough to stick around to help rebuild the house and wash up the 25 dutty plates, pint glasses, fathers day mugs and plastic 'beakers'. special thanks to kate hydeh fiona and oliver.

oh and make sure you keep tabs on who goes home in your clothes. what to wear for the next 5 days!?

mother, please stop taking uppers!

requiem for a dream - 2000
definately one of those, sit in pure silent awe, staring at the credits for at least half an hour after its ended, sort of films.
its the killa scratch/cut visual stuff and one of the best wardrobes ever, along with the ginger mom and mean soundtrack that means requiem kicks human traffic up the arse for me.
this is without doubt the film to you find yourself forcing upon other messy youths, crackfox-eyed at some warehouse party, eating coco pops out of a cullender in digbeth at 3 in the morning.
where else are you going to see the epic rise and fall of three brooklyn junkies (and one of said junkies ginger, jewish mother) all within two hours??? not even jezza kyle is gonna give you that shit.

warning: contains heroin fueled ass to ass lesbian dildo action that some viewers may find disturbing/erotic/disturbingly erotic

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0180093/

visual metaphoric propaganda in opposition to Bhs

click to view in full






dont sell your soul, its not worth it
(mr rooney)

some art

reading through this months dazed&confused, which charminlgy arrived on cue through my letterbox this morning, im feeling much inspired by the article examining 35 fresh faced do-er-ers actually getting on with something.
so ive decided to start uploading odd bits of art that ive got lieing the house, inside my hardrive and lapped on my bedroom walls, instead of leaving it to gather dust and/or piles of clothes ontop of them.

its difficult to pick what to kick off with really.
thought id start with some older work ive got lieing about. i suppose this ones not so much driving the whole house mad by taking up physical space, but it is most definately hogging some precious mb's that id like to allocate to a sukpatch album.

PS ITS NOT FITTING ON SO CLICK TO ENGLARGE THAT MOFO





took to photo on a manual focus halina camera over new years in le marais, paris, i think, either that or covent garden.