Close to Home
My town could be any town. My town goes on for miles, and the scenery doesn't change. It's probably like yours; houses down the street—blister packs of malaise that hold the creeping pangs of unarticulated dread. Each residence, each community, manicured and omitting every shred of irregularity barring the occasional evidence of vice that has seeped through the facade. I collect this evidence. Through merging illustrations of found objects such as cigarette packs, beer bottles, and pornography stills on top of child-like drawings, I construct my work to reflect the schizophrenic collision of self-indulgence, mundanity, and naivety of the places we all call home. Via tender renderings of the ill-fated relics, I am acknowledging and immortalizing their existence, granting them space outside of the dark cavities of our communities. It is through their process of manifestation, that the drawn objects form an intimate portrait of of humanity. They belong not to us, but of us, and are the visual vernacular that unites us all.