Archive | August 2009

18.08.2009 (2)

End of the wall

End of the wall

conclusion for my current ‘Looking For Truth’ book


I have realised that my own walls will never crumble until under extreme personal circumstances, be it a physical injury to slow my manic escapism, or from the more desirable outcome; somebody else wedges themselves between me and my fears. The obsession with one’s self is incubated by these perpetual walls too, and maintains the different compartments of hot and cold rooms, for the constant swing between self love and self hate – as this book shows.

I believe that medication is not intended for people who think like I do. No medication, which is there – for any citizens to take – to keep the country’s work force up and running, is meant for me, I am no long tern use for the country’s work force. This brings me to my immediate future, if I cannot escape my walls I must use all of my knowledge of them, and the fears that reside within them, to protest, as much as I can, that a humanity that builds walls is a humanity that is doomed to extinction, because anything that tries to to hide and deny the truth will always eventually succumb the rules of entropy. And all walls, between races, tribes, nations and the ones which ‘jail’ nature and imprison it in ever smaller and ‘unsustainable areas, need to be taken down if humanity is going to survive the 21st century, and live on after.

The World, under Capitalism, is supposed to be the ‘free world’ yet nothing else has built so many walls, implanted so many fears and created so much oppression – in the first world, perpetually, and in the 3rd world, physically. I would not dare to claim that the world would be perfect, or indeed that I would be free if it wasn’t for this system, but the villain in this movie it is!

These walls, and the general fear of where all this manmade expansion is taking us, laid out the blue print for my own walls in the first place – hammered home by the conformity of High school – and I’ll be damned if I do not not fight these ‘greater’ walls for the rest of my days, until one day when they may ‘no longer be’. Until then I will not rest, not physically or mentally.
As for my art, I do not think it will ever cease, it is the outcome of my dissatisfaction, and why should I not feel satisfied!? A ‘lie in?’ ‘an afternoon watching television?’ when people are dying for standing and residing upon the oil, which supports the comfort of this nation? This is just an example of the routes ‘guilt’ takes me down, but they most certainly ensure that my art work will proceed.

There is other notable outcomes created by this guilt however. Anorexia is a notable outcome of this guilt, but this guilt comes in many different forms, it is a bombardment, which for a sensitive person, is hard to escape from. Here are some of the contributors to my 10 year old perpetual walls, and especially my eating disorders; Advertisement/celebrity culture (and that includes all musical genres!), Orthodoxy/conformity that smacked one in the face at High School, the ever present un-realised fears about the environment, plus a hereditary tendency for ultra-sensitivity. The modern world is so fast and complex, one feels out of control, the only way they can find control is by enforcing a strict regime upon themselves, my regime began in 1999 (10 years ago).

Art, as an outlet for protest, runs parallel to these kinds of disorders, both dig their claws into one’s conscious as soon as one even considers ‘taking the day easy’. Even now, my brain is searching for new artwork’s, new routines -to make the day a success – even in protest, the fear of failure embedded in a Consumer society is all conquering.

So, until the walls, humanity builds, remain, the walls within me will also. For the time-being, the wall is me, I am looking for truth, whilst, at the same time, I know I will not find it anywhere, but right here, the place in which I am so fearful of looking into. I know this, yet I will keep ‘looking for truth’ in places in which it isn’t, and by saying this I have openly declared that I am way too fearful to let go of my walls. My logic knew this back in late December/early January, but the hope, which resides in one’s will, ensures that one spends his life going round in a circle.

I am Here

This story board is the ‘little brother’ piece to The Alpha Forest – currently being shown in Emergence, an exhibition in Barnsley Town Centre

number 1 2 3 4

Global Pillage

 Global Pillage, ballpoint pen on paper, 70X115cm

global pillage (3400x2170)This is the Easter Island Catastrophe but on a global scale. Each Nation eating up its own land and resources, connected by a hegemonic paradigm – perpetuated to the masses through global communication, yet disconnected through increasingly nationalistic and far right politics, caused as conflict begins to rise over who should have access to the decreasing resources on Earth.

Very much inspired by the Gaia theory, I see the human urban landscape as a replica of natures own working systems, yet ours (Gaia 2) just feeds off the land, and gives nothing back in return. These huge tree-like structures mutate into the shape of power stations as their roots turn into roads and tunnels, like the clogged up arteries of an individual, as one entire species begins to outdo itself.

global pillage - Copy

Some Words for the Investigation into The Wall

What is the disease and what is me?

What is the ivy and what is the tree?

where does the sky begin

and where does the see?

Where are these barriers

that stop me being free?


There is still a her who I miss, when my endevours hit a snag. Even if she isn’t identifiable as anybody who exists, or who has ever existed, there is still a her.

I’ve done it again. I’ve let myself slip into such an obsessional production-line of “things I have to do” that I have lost the joy and pride for what I have even made, whilst living in these endless shifts.

Even the music I listen to has been used as a motivational tool for ‘getting stuff done’, and at this moment I can’t even find any music that can satisfy this empty feeling. Also, the books I read are becoming the ‘spectres’ of my obsessive personality, just like when I started collecting retro computer games, aged 19, in a desperate attempt to attempt to un-earth some sense of enjoyment from my childhood at a time when I was rapidly slipping into an anorexic state – only for it to become part of my obsessive patterns.

Why does a glimmer of hope always end up turning into a concrete slab weighing down on me further?