We strut, we fume, we signify nothing; sound and fury is smothered in folly and tedium. We have the brains of Ardi and Lucy and fingers that launch nuclear bombs with the press of a button. We are spun from a helical lottery; our patchwork of genes sprayed randomly in time and space. We gloss over the profound mystery of existence with the shallow mystery of a god who erratically smites and caresses, who composes absurd riddles but answers no questions, but who has the power to generate exquisite spiritual sensations and acts of social goodness in equal measure with doctrinal bickering, social divisiveness and holy war. If there are any miracles they would be the enlightenment with its brilliant system of laws and the rights of man, modern science that has soothed much of what is brutal and painful in life, and capitalism which has for millions eliminated material need. Flawed miracles of course, they are all man made.
My figures do not originate in perception but in the mind; they are archetypes, projections of inner life played against the background of myth and religion. My figures are naked because they deal in innate human nature, not culture, which is an ephemeral construct. The naked body is our biological inheritance; apparel is the superficial layer that signifies status, nationality group identity and environmental conditions.
As an art student in the 1960’s, I absorbed abstract expressionism, minimalism and the anti-form movements. Today I take an abrupt turn backwards to a figurative art laden with autobiography, psychology, narrative and myth. Beyond the thrall of technology, weary of gestural virtuosity, formal gamesmanship and naïve visual social science, I look back on my life, ruminate on the human condition, and sing songs of experience.