In this collection I invite the viewer to take part in a cycle of mania – mixed episode – depression, followed by a tripart depiction of psychotherapy, without which, the cycle could never be fully broken. The numbers and letters are the codes used by the ICD (International Classification of Diseases), forming a basis for diagnosis.
Madame Volcano knows what to write, what to paint, what to sing. No shortage of ideas here, no blank spaces. There are too few hours in the day, not enough sunrises. If only the body didn't need sleep, or food, or water. The sacred act of creation should be enough to give her strength. And yet the days end and sleep makes its demands. But Madame Volcano knows what really matters, and turns her back on those childish notions.
"Madame Volcano". Acrylics on paper, A3, 2024.
The world turns with greater intensity. Colours and noises amplify to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
I am becoming more than I was. The world is my stage. I am the conductor of my own symphony. I am the symphony. The music of the soul has nowhere to go but in, doomed to linger there until the supernova ends its confinement.
"The Mouth of Dawn". Acrylics on paper, A3, 2020.
Everything is alive, it pulsates with life, with potential, with expectation. Thoughts themselves are slippery like fish, and every fish has its own journey and destination and a story to tell, but every story is my story, every one of my stories is like a fish returning to the font of inspiration from which it sprang.
The world is fire. I am fire.
I am a fiery fish yearning for a return divinity.
"The Mind Melts". Acrylics on paper, A3, 2020.
The excitement I felt has shifted. I can feel it.
There’s a creature living in my chest. Like some kind of phantasmic spider, its limbs wrap around and puncture into my organs. When it moves, it pulls my insides from side to side, making me sweat, making me shiver. It wraps its legs around my ribcage and pulls them tight, so that I can hardly move or breathe. When it wants me to write, it squeezes, and I write. When it wants me to work, it pushes, so I work. When it wants me to stop in my tracks, take my hands off of my toys, it paralyses my muscles with its venom and I fall back into my seat, fingers falling motionlessly into my lap.
I cannot rest. I cannot create. It's like a force beyond my control has taken residence within my chest. When the eclipse completes, I will lose control, and I don't know what it will make me do.
"The Light that Burns". Acrylics on paper, A3, 2020.
Somewhere, a pendulum swings.
Here, I stand gaping into the abyss. Pain tears through my limbs but they refuse to move. Gold-red lava runs down the walls and a river of molten rock passes the little shoal upon which I stand with a primordial ferocity.
That same fire that burned within my blood is destroying everything around me, but all I can do is watch as it all burns. Portraits, operas, and unexplored worlds beat their wings against my ribcage.
II know that I too am doomed to embers.
"Do Waterfalls Burn in Hell?" Acrylics on canvas, 2024.
Nothing's going to break this fall.
Nothing's going to save this fool.
This night will never end.
This fool will never mend.
"Charybdis". Acrylics on paper, A3, 2019.
Give in to me and I'll raise you high.
I'll show you the garden where dreams go to die.
I'll make you my lover. I'll crown you my Queen.
I'll show you how bleeding can wipe your soul clean.
Come now, my lovely, with me you'll go far;
You'll never remember how lonely you are.
"The Glacier". Acrylics on paper, A3, 2020.
You can try to hide, but I live in your mind.
I eat up your courage, what strength left inside.
I know you so well; we've both been through hell.
Your scars and your fears have been my home for years.
I can absolve you... help you pull through.
Just call out my name. I'll take away the pain.
"The Silence". Acrylics on canvas, 2008.
"I had a perfectly normal childhood."
"If that were true, you wouldn't be sat here in that armchair across from me."
"Psychodynamic Psychoanalytics", A3, ink on paper, 2020.
"I dare not look for fear of what I'll find."
"Totem on a Ribcage", A3, ink on paper, 2020.
Words sometimes fail to describe what certain words have done to me. "Ruminations with a Reclined Octopus", A3, ink on paper, 2020.
Sometimes I'm not sure if the medication is making me sicker rather than helping... but the truth is, the pressure in my mind is falling. Could it be that I have more space inside... for myself?
Could I dare hope for a second chance at life... but the truth is that I still carry it all inside, and the storms will never really stop laying waste to it all. Will it? I can't stop now. I've got to keep trying.
"Individuation", A3, watercolour on paper, 2020.
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