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Where do ideas spring from? The muses? The ether? Synaptic connections? Divine insight perhaps? I suspect a rouge faction of brain cells have set up an independent state within my subconscious and they keep trying to tempt the rest of my brain to join them in their insurgency with their poorly timed bleak humour.

Late 2021... A deep malaise settled in. Sinking. From all angles with no respite raising doubts to the authenticity of who and what I held dearest. Scrabbling around desperately to locate me. Nothing was stable and age was physically fraying family and my body. Doubts about what I was trying to achieve, and the response yet undefined. Doubting myself. Overwhelmed by the moment of life I was in and it's stark truths. Unable to unlock perceptions that had hardened around me. Not knowing what to do... So after a bit of a scrap with the evil vultures pecking apart the remnants of my spirit... I painted a a painting for a friend, it filled me up a bit for the surprise and joy it brought. So I did another couple for a pick me up for some friends down in the moment. ...and another ... very soon anarchic purpose sparked... 'do lots of them' Lots and lots for everyone I was around at that time. If I love them or even if i don't. Had I known the undertaking of well in excess of 200 hours I may have rethought it. (na) I secretly (not so secretly) started asking what colour was preferred and set about creating and giving ...all originals ...all with the person in mind in their preferred colour Many, many random ones to unexpected people... too many to mention... I really don't know how many I did I am certain it was more than 85 but it could easily be over 100. It was fun to create and gift from the heart... I saw a huge range of emotions so I know it hit the hearts well. I was with a friend and some new friends and this was discussed - One person exclaimed.. "Who the fuck does that? gives away art like that" Answer... I am the fuck who does that! and I feel a lot better for it...

Title: Off my face talking politics! In New Zealand that often means: Get pissed - Talk Shit - Do Nothing! But...in contrast... Many other parts of the world it means, that when talking your 'politics' - you could literally loose your face, freedom or your life ...I saw some war photos. Not a sanitised media release where disrespect is shown to honourable soldiers by not even showing their caskets, essentially blinding the public to the true depravity and personal loss of war. These were images I was most likely not supposed to see. In amongst the mess was an image of a ripped off face lying discarded in the dust next to a cigarette butt and trash. Unreal! It got me thinking... how disposable a life... that human life rendered unrecognisable ...still so serene... but... Who was that guy... ...a freedom fighter? ...a Terrorist? ...a martyr? ...a man of honour? ...a criminal? ...a despot? ...a son? ...a brother? ...a father? ...a baker ... engineer ...musician... poet ... ? who cares...it doesn't matter! ...he was off his face talking politics...

Title: I dont know anything!... that I do know. Leaving a restaurant in Guanzhou we walked into this guy. This clothing was tied up plastic bags, including his massive shoes of tied up plastic. This momentary crossing of paths left a strong residual feeling. Who was he? Why was he dressed like that? Where is he from? Where was he going? Is he still alive? and the list goes on... I can make many assumptions based on a variety of perceptions and things I think I know... but ultimately... I dont know anything! only he does... I generally avoid portraits but... I felt like I HAD to paint this guys portrait before he slipped off into the haze like so many. Took a while to get it how I wanted it. One for all the souls abandoned by the callous unfeeling nature of progress.

Title: I cannot see my child... I was watching eye witness reports of Gaza air bombings by a certain State bully on a news broadcast - the Mothers were exclaiming that in the immediate aftermath they could not see their own children - the dust on them, the blood the damage and burns were so thick that they could not recognise their own children even though they cried out ...mama! ...it occurred to me that the Mothers and the Fathers who shot the bombs could not see their own children in the horror they unleash. Nor outrage came along with the glances at the TV by the Mothers and the Fathers in the homes of the forces of revenge or across continents as the news whips past in ever increasing velocity of news cycle. Perhaps there is no time available or image that stirs up the fists in disgust anymore. Orders may be given but they do not have to be obeyed. Oils on canvas 600x450mm 2017

Title: My pain is not accountable to you. Pain is a curious beast. Damage done can ripple for decades. Pain where there is no visible scars... Nerves, degeneration and the ache of incalculable loss. Often unseen or masked. Oil on canvas - took many months to dry 600x600mm 2021

Title: Your prayers for retribution answered swiftly by karma. ...during a social media comments chest pump on a NZ politicians page proclaiming the glorious good of war without acknowledgement of the suffering it draws along behind it, I made an obvious comment... something like ...'war kills children and destroys lives of people like us who are just trying to get by'... this unleashed a tirade of comments - many from what looked like ordinary people who were accusing me of being a sympathiser with various things(?) and calling out that I should not have a life to make such a comment and that it could be ended forthwith... BUT ONE COMMENT STOOD OUT... a woman wrote... (it said it was a woman(?)) 'I pray that someone comes to destroys your peace...' I thought - if you could talk with God, the omnipresent infinite creator of everything, the omnipotent proclaimer of life... and out of all the infinite questions to pursue an answer for, the best your grey soul could come up with is... ...can you make that guys life a misery cause of what he said... Total failure of the imagination - Karma replies swiftly... 'off with you hands so they can't do any more damage. I would loose your head also but it has already gone'...

Title: Lifetime trip to the plastic Islands. First I heard of the plastic Islands and the great Pacific ocean garbage patch, I was saddened but not surprised. This plastic will be mined later perhaps?

Title: Corruptive element All Found coins! All Found in NZ! My first found one was from a dumped car (stolen) when I was 9 or 10 yeaers old. Kept with all the other damaged lost /found money I have found over the decades from in the most ludicrous places. The stories these coins could tell. Mangled, squashed, dented, corroded, burnt, oxidised and scrunched There is one my grandma found and one my son found - 3 generations of coin finders ... unrepeatable

Title: The long awaited transport to synesthesia.. Its a state if mind this bus - a bumpy ride with hidden depths... Trying to illustrate the breaking down of a memebrane between perceptions is a challenge... Arcylics 2017

Title: Memorys of places I've never been to but visited regularly... I Dream a lot. The dreams sometimes haunt my waking hours for days,weeks even years. Each bubble is a dream reflected in the best memory I have of it's sharp fuzzy haze... Acrylics 900x600mm

Brings out the worst in us. Toxic gnarling spiting biting venomous storm of indignant self righteousness. Mostly blah blah noise to be ignored 2022 Acrylics on canvas