Fighting and Fucking 2018

Installation.

Stud walling, plasterboard, coloured builder's plaster, acrylic paint, iron chain and shackles.

The effort I've had to summon to produce this piece has been exhausting, nothing but battling with obstacles erected in front of me, fighting with materials and feeling a little fucked at each turn. 

It had to be done though, unhappy with the amount of studio space available all year I jumped at the chance at make something large scale and use my plastering knowledge. Plaster looks stayed, permanent, it's presence habitually reasoned and permanent against the barely recognisable objects depicted using computer manipulation and the rasterbilder/sketchy techniques of my paintwork. The chain represents the links between fighting and fucking and the shackles of the adherence of our society to doing it. For me the shackles are now loose, assuming this application decides to save what I'm writing now.

 

The right hand side of the work is blunt, messy, 'fucked' if you will. The figures on the left appear amidst an explosion of sorts, emanating or being sucked into the portal of decision. 

In front of this wall is a solid looking tower. The same proportions as me, as if the artist is stood there, amongst the audience, exposed to public scrutiny, some kind of phallus, or coffin indeed, or perhaps simply a reminder of an image etched into my brain after seeing the burnt Grenfell Tower first hand earlier this year.

The curve and the tower work in dichotomy, the penis and the vagina, the crude and the smooth, timeless in it's predictions of continuity.