My pictures are confused, abrupt, adamant, honest and entirely lacking in foresight. They are born from an argument between life's experiences, subconscious impulses and my own muddled aesthetic preferences; this dialogue is strained but ongoing. They are made possible only by the depth of my illness and the gift of my sobriety. I have accepted both graciously. They are, individually and as a group, an unwitting self-portrait.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Old machines drawn in 2006 and 2007. I love drawing these whimsical, do-nothing contraptions. I think they stem from an old uncle of mine showing me a book of Rube Goldberg cartoons he had. We would look at them for hours.
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