I got up in the middle of the night and stepped on a slug. It’s not the first time. The meaning witches slither out after midnight. Up close they are rainbow reptilian, naked as the moon is in the night sky, shell-less, with their antennae pointing upwards toward an unseen world. Moon-guff oozes out of them; juiced bluish insides with a phosphorescent halo. It is as if a network of ideas has been put to death as they go sliding through my toes. Their gluey death-lava smears onto my in-betweens. Their dolloped raw guts sings all the way to the afterlife; an internal humming of end-truth. Another one hides in the kitchen near the sink, preparing to cross over the floorboards at midnight and leave a shimmer of slug-logic.
Boundary Speak (Diaries 2013-2021) centrally focuses on reportage of my life’s happenings, notes on readings, phantasms or wild forays, riffs off music or footnotes from poems that take me on a strange journey, ruminations and thought fragments. My outsider artwork is focal on my Re-learn your Alphabet for the Twenty-First Century drawings (some of which are collaborations with my children), my robot series, as well as many other drawings undertaken over the period 2013-2021.