I’m a bad person.
When I see someone carrying recently made food I always visualise them dropping it. It’s just part of the human condition that other peoples failures are funny and there is nothing more spectacular than the cake drop.
The room fills with the aroma of freshly risen sponge.
The icing drips down the side.
And then it happens.
the shoe laces tangle.
The knees buckle.
And it goes flying through the air like a sweet vanilla projectile
The picture shows a typical incident. Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” can be seen. It is thought that the inspiration for the painting came from a similar incident that Munch experienced at his 5th birthday party.
People love schadenfreude, it goes all the way back to the earliest forms of comedy. English comedy is filled with slapstick.
Munch never truly recovered from the incident but he still managed to save some cake.
He lay with his greasy face against the cold laminate flooring after being dropped for the third time that morning.
He begged that he was not cracked, he had fallen at an odd angle.
Vertigo set in as a hand clamped around him and hastily lifted him from the floor. The fingerprints were wiped from his face by a shirt sleeve and he heard a sigh of relief, his screen was still intact.
Fingers smooshed his face once more as his user typed out a text.
He had been worried as of late, he had heard the rumours.
It was always discussed at this time of year, like clockwork, it panicked him immensely.
He hoped they were just rumours.
A new generation was coming.
He was being replaced.
His circuits buzzed as he daydreamed his demise in to the obsolete.
He thought he was special, irreplaceable, unique.
But the new phone was 0.6 inches bigger.
A technological revolution.
He placed himself on silent and hid behind the sofa cushions.
That’ll show ’em.
Whenever i’m at a supermarket I always feel like i’m in the way.
Much like this elephant.
I just like looking at vegetables.
I mean how do you know your getting the best tomatoes for your money if you don’t peruse every tomato in the shop. There may be one tomato hiding at the bottom that’s the best tomato anyone has ever tasted.
Angry shoppers look at me like i’m an irritation, hindering their shopping experience. I just have a lot of time on my hands.
I get home and lay out my beautiful, plump, fresh vegetables.
They get home and weep over their unripe peaches.
“His work has changed my perception… of perception”
– Time Magazine
“After visiting his art exhibit I lay on the floor for 4 hours and wept”
“What is life?”
– National Geographic
These are just some of the reviews people would publish about me if my work was more popular. I wrote to Time magazine suggesting that they review my work but they did not respond.
I believe this is because of fear. Fear that if my work was to be distributed to a wider audience it might change things.
It may change the very make up of society.
Seriously though, they’re probably very busy.
I mean, I only sent a few letters, i’m sure i’ll get a reply soon.
Maybe they got lost in the mail.
…I’ll send another.
The cats gather round as he approaches. He has the air of someone important about him and a glow to his fur that draws their eyes, even at this distance.
They know him well, he had been one of them. Just a simple alley cat. But he had made the big time.
He was a house cat.
Here for his annual return to his roots, complete with cat food gifts and endless tales of the high life. Regaling the rapidly growing crowd with stories of free food, sleeping on the sofa and unconditional love.
He epitomizes their hopes and dreams. An unattainable feline deity.
His presence runs a fine line between adoration and resentment.
An idolised celebrity.
And his fall from grace was all the more dramatic for it.
I hand the loveable nitwit another wad of cash in return for his ego soothing but clearly false flattery.
“Please Mr Art, tell me, how you achieve such perfection” says the small child
Another 5 pounds well spent.
It starts with a blank canvas.
A work surface on to which my creative juices can spill, much like when you accidently put the straw all the way through the capri-sun packet.
And then comes the idea, represented here as a thought bubble. This originates spontaneously. Inspiration can come from anywhere. Sometimes the inspiration can be the idea itself, this is known as the ‘idea of an idea’ paradox and puts the artist into a beautiful but inescapable artistic hole. It is thought that Van Gogh cut off his own ear just to escape the loop.
I achieved the loop in this particular piece I call “Woman in a Parka coat” or “Fur Hood”. You can choose.
I turn to face the boy again, expecting awe and wonderment
“Well there it is my beggar companion. Perfection. Here is some more cash for your trouble”
But alas he has gone.
And so has my wallet…
Sometimes I am fearful of my own creativity.
This picture of a bucket and spade at the beach is a good example and it’s not just the world class artistry and the amazing attention to detail that make me think it.
It’s hard to compare myself to painters of the modern age such as Geoffery Chaucer, Bruce Springsteen and Barack Obama when my art is essentially from a different planet to theirs. The heading “Uncategorized” on WordPress was originally created for my artwork, before gaining wider blogging usage.
I call this piece “Angst in A minor”. It’s second title is Quit Beaching as can be seen scrawled across the page… It tells the tale of a lonely bucket that just wants to move to Hawaii. She hears there are tropical fish, beautiful sunsets and sandy beaches.
Instead she is stuck on a dirty shale beach in Blackpool, crossing off the days until the annual two weeks of summer rear their cloudy 15°C heads.
P.S – I have added some more ‘art’ to my portfolio tab on the main page. Take a look!