I know, it’s a cheerless title from a dismal song , but its been churning around in my muddy head for the past few days like a mantra.
Here we are at the denouement then, 2017 as a summary in paint, and I have to ask, was it a year well spent I wonder?
Don’t answer that.
Looking at it now, it could be an existential map of this annus horribillis, a veritable schizoid hell-spawn of conflict, angst, disembowellings, and death. It was certainly instilled with the spirit of these times we live in. I mean, one of the last pieces I did was a fetal man, digging his way out of the dark using a horn, growing from where his third eye would be. Talk about no shit Sherlock.