“Christianity is a myth that has been literalised.”
Here I am at the opening act for what will be the grand guignol, for my very own book of Revelations.
The first of the last,the meanest story ever had then. Infernal, the Denouement.
For any end, there has to be an origin story, and with that in mind, I suppose it was inevitable that my work would arrive back at the beginning. I’m thinking of course of Theothantos, my artistic fumbling’s through the quagmire of dogma and mortality. Dealing with those questions back then, carried a lot of heft. With the burden of weighing up the ultimate existential odyssey, I found it easier to reduce the work to the abstract crevices of a skull.
As Henry Miller once pronounced when talking about Tropic of Capricorn, he should have waited until the end of his career to do what he’d tried at the beginning.
Perhaps a decade on, none the wiser, over fifty and certainly more world weary, I feel more able to put flesh on those bones.
And alongside Eliots The Wasteland- I’ve been drawing on some old stalwarts for spiritual encouragement. Goya’s black paintings, Picasso’s later years, Otto Dix’s war etchings, Grunewalds Corpus Christi, Liverpool urban decay from the 70’s. Perhaps it’s some sort of fait accomplais, but I want the series to feel like it’s been produced from the vantage point of an artist, journaling the end of days.
I wish I could say it feels like a stretch.