There is a common perception that once you take acid you’ll forever remember those vivid colours and delicate vibrations – but I don’t think I did – not really. I can just remember how the speed of life; time, seemed totally hellish and how my perception of time began to move quicker from that point on. Therefore, how impossible it is to continue living, as we were, like a child. 

There was also something about knowing when my parents were lying to me. I can still taste lies. I’ve a good sensibility for them. Dogs are also good for working out liars, their tails like dowsing rods when confronted with a full lie. A dog’s tail much like the brain, is an instrument of perception.

I’m into processing what I call seaside-grotesque, to me this isn't kitsch, or funny – a harmless break from monotony – no, it's poverty and desperation and sash windows that rattle in gale force winds - lonely people shuffling along a beaten promenade as time swallows whole - BUT

It is with seaside black humour that I have started to read through the pages of life.


A seaside dog's tail spins round and around, helicopter blades of a virile-animalism. The tail at rest, is poised like a lance. The prospect of violence, or devotion - ready to whiplash murky fact. The seaside child alive at the funfair is on a conveyor belt to the funeral home, we look on with glee each wearing a coned hat.


The dog sniffing an exposed arse is a message about cleanliness. When one spills blood, have those wounds then been cleaned? I see all kinds of weirdness on the streets – I picked up a newspaper from the train and I saw a soldier kissing a kid on the lips. And then we look out from our forlorn windows, to see Union Jacks, bunting, armed forces and pride, symbols that exist beneath our immediate peception, that celebrate power and death. What you love is weird. I said so with an image – we all deserve to make images that try to confront this – there cannot be any doubt.




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