For sale at last
Step into this show, and step into a maze of mirrors. This is a show for connoisseurs of voyeurism, every direction a diving board to the psyche... it is alluring and repelling, thick with emotion, sometimes whimsical, then suddenly uncomfortably real.
Russell: Hi Dad.
Mr. Lake: Hello Russell. What's that you're making son? Looks a bit queer.
Russell: It's a tough world out there dad.
Dad: And you think someone's going to buy this?
Meanwhile, in a parallel galaxy...
Dad: Hello Russell. What's that you're making son? Looks a bit queer.
Russell: This is my observation into the relationship between the inner condition of the gaze... it's meant to be piercing enough to tell you about a dilemma, but non-specific to the point that it 's unclear whether the turmoil is contained inside, or whether it's interactive with the outside world.
Russell: Well, I'll deal with that in my next piece.
This is the stuff of artists. There are no holds barred here. This is free range observation, born of a banal culture littered with timeless cliches and jargonisms, where men in two-tone shoes can sell you anything but your confidence in them. You are left alone in a crowd, wondering whether the work is dangling like carrots in front of you, or snagged on a play of words and images.
It's the movie you want to switch off but can't, and end up lying awake in bed for far too long.