"&& We started hangin, like Ernie and Bert"My friend Aurora is phenomenally talented.
Last night, we were talking about life and feelings and then found ourselves on the subject of her art. I couldn't help but compliment her on how wonderfully she draws- until now, all of her work has seemed as if it sits on this differnt plateau, away from casual discussion. But suddenly, I realised that this is the purpose of art- to start a conversation, to deliberate over assumed emotional states, to have some sort of visual, tangible indication of what's happening under someone's skin.
I was throwing out word after word to try to sum up how much her drawings meant. She latched onto one.
"Emotive", she said. "That's what my art teacher always told me about them."
And then-
"Do you mean it?"
"I honestly do," I replied.
Sometimes, I find that you encounter people who have such a distinctive artistic-aesthetic that you can see the individual within their art. Not simply in that you can recognise the continuity in her line work, the garish colours that seep insidiously across the surface of her page or shape a figure so perfectly that they are physical, entirely tangible. I find her art fragmented, dirty and dark- but also wrought with fear, an intelligence, both intellectual, psychological and emotional about what she's going through. It is clear to me, the traces of catharis in the eyes that she etches down.
"It's my little release."
They're downright spooky, the characters that she creates. They seem so familiar to me, and clearly, to her.
"I don't deny it. They are all me. Even the boys."
I was throwing out word after word to try to sum up how much her drawings meant. She latched onto one.
"Emotive", she said. "That's what my art teacher always told me about them."
And then-
"Do you mean it?"
"I honestly do," I replied.
Sometimes, I find that you encounter people who have such a distinctive artistic-aesthetic that you can see the individual within their art. Not simply in that you can recognise the continuity in her line work, the garish colours that seep insidiously across the surface of her page or shape a figure so perfectly that they are physical, entirely tangible. I find her art fragmented, dirty and dark- but also wrought with fear, an intelligence, both intellectual, psychological and emotional about what she's going through. It is clear to me, the traces of catharis in the eyes that she etches down.
"It's my little release."
They're downright spooky, the characters that she creates. They seem so familiar to me, and clearly, to her.
"I don't deny it. They are all me. Even the boys."
"This Christmas can someone please buy me an easybake oven? I am big and scary, I have stupid little hands. And I love my children."
"Kym & Friends" 
"Harvey/Harv"
"BEFORE SHERYL WENT FERYL"
"You and Your Big Mouth"
Dear Ror,
I love the way you draw yourself as a dinosaur.
I love the titles you give your work-
It's every mans right to have baby's if he wants them
getlostaurora get lost aurora get lost Aurora!
Diary Of A Beefcake.
getlostaurora get lost aurora get lost Aurora!
Diary Of A Beefcake.
And I will be buying this t-shirt.
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