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Alive, beating and breathing. The home is a system of organs. The home is an entire organism. A juicy, dusty, clean, hard mess. A manmade Frankenstein, clothed in wallpaper, bricks, and crumbling mortar. Fitted with pipes for veins and windows for lungs.

With paint, I playfully disembowel the anatomy of the domestic environment, gutting from the inside out. I create a compression of reality; an ode to the (dys)functionality of the cartoonesque. 

I have never much enjoyed making paintings of landscapes. For me they are far too broad, too vast for me to sink my teeth into. But the domestic landscape never fails to intrigue me. I am fascinated in the way we as humans, live in and fill space(s), both physical and psychological.

Like parasites, we infest the home’s body. We fill it with, furniture, houseplants and miscellaneous ‘objets’, until it evolves into something else. Something alive. Something familiar. An extension of oneself. A complex tapestry of a life lived.

My paintings of inner worlds are not physical but emotional, manifested through depth and sensation, reflected in us all as domesticated beings.

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