Some drawings don’t work as well as others. Some wake up fully formed, others don’t and must be educated before they are sent out on their own where the possibilities of success and failure are made actual by a grading on a curve.

This is one of the latter; a hypnopompic drawing of a life of starts and stops. It began as one idea then became another, finally settling for both. A compromise negotiated by a third, together a threesome, but not of a carnal sort, more a confused collage. I’ll post it anyway with this explanation.

The walls of a prison is seen in all three parts. The top left shows a actual attempt at breaking out, begun in ‘dark of night’ but caught by spotlight. It’s a transit to the reality of work (the suit) made to look like art by graffiti, a youthful and anti-social gesture. Perhaps the reason for the incarceration was an earlier attempt to turn work into art.

Top right is just the opposite. Here ‘light of day’ the art object –in an obsolete medium, a canvas on easel– is real, but imprisoned. but the escape –this time to love, the nude– is an illusion.

The [European renaissance view of ] art as what you’d see through a window is history. Art, whether it paints over the vandalism or voyeurs the voyeur, stands still and silent. It’s locked up in book and blog.

And below is ‘objective’ ‘reality,’ as a sum of work and love that is the poshlost life as we know it. Here it is seen from outside the prison wall and sadly seen as another wall just as forbidding, a premature asphodel. The escape attempt from –and oddly, by as well– 40 years of dutiful adulthood, obedience to the social order etc, proved futile, merely opening one wall to face others.