Psychotic Impressionism…

Alice (Or… I honestly can’t take you anywhere, bab). Acrylic on Canvas. 2024.

Approx size: 213 W x 220 H (CM).

This piece is inspired by, and dedicated to, my friend Alice (1300 - 1340’s approx), who was one of those people who would always ruin even the most beautiful moments by doing or saying exactly the wrong thing and accidentally offending absolutely everyone.

Many a beautiful, wholesome moment has been shattered by this smasher as she misreads the situation and once again proves that she’s the master of cringe and the impish, pizazz-laden wrangler of the elephant in the room. She was amazing. I miss that and miss her lots.

This piece is inspired by textile art such as tapestries that were hung on walls of houses and castles. Easily transportable wall hangings would not only work aesthetically but would also serve the household by providing a source of insulation that would keep the warm air from the fire in and the cold drafts out.

Christ Crucified (Or…. Fucks SAKE, Lads! REALLY?!!!) Acrylic on Unstretched Canvas. 2024.

Approx size: 213 W x 220 H (CM).

This is dedicated to Hugo ‘A’ from the early 1300s who was no stranger to using the wealth and influence of his family, specifically his trader father, to get what he wanted.

This brought him trouble and he often came to me, as a pardoner, in search of forgiveness for various misdeeds which I sold to him at ‘mates rates’ (about 72% higher than my usual rates).

I was invited on his stag / bucks do by his dad.

His mates really seemed to have it in for him and they made sure he had the worst time ever, which they hid under a thin layer of laddy bonhomie and playful punches landing perhaps harder than they should have.

Hugo got ever more shitfaced as the night went on and had a talent for starting fights that his mates would have to finish. Sick of his shit, they tied him to a wooden post in the ale house they were in so that they could continue their night in peace.

This is a recurring episode I have that flicks between Hugo tied up in an ale house and filmic shots of Jesus on the cross - everything from images of him on Church stained glass windows seen in films and documentaries, to the cross scenes in Life of Brian.

Sometimes it intermingles and the inhabitors of the alehouse can be seen wailing and bathing Hugo’s feet as he begs for more ale.

Occasionally it would 180 with the disciples looking up at Jesus, crying with laughter as he repeatedly asks them if they know who his father is. All except Judas who’s just stood there crying. The grass.

Having wealth, power and influence did actually make you godlike back then. The rich were local celebs who would be revered and gossiped about as we would with today’s celebs.

Alehouses teamed with rumour and scandal about wealthy local families, their staff fielding questions about what they’re really like with faux reluctance to land them right in the shit.

Sadly Hugo didn’t learn from his ordeal and went straight back to being the dickhead he was, but, and maybe it was my imagination but I could’ve sworn his manner became a little more effusive and his swagger had a little less gait.

SIKE (Or…..’You having that, Brian?). Oil and Acrylic on Unstretched Canvas. 2024. 

Measurements vary slightly but approx:

H 235 cm x W 100 cm (92.5 x 39.5 Inches)

If I’m honest it all went to my head a bit. The whole pardoning thing was a bit of a ruse and I was making it up as I went along. I genuinely didn’t think it would go as well as it did and I got a bit cocky. I was probably irritating as fuck to be around at that point as I would use my new found prowess as a con artist just to wind people up.

This was especially the case towards the end of the 14th Century. I must have been insufferable. I realised I’d had an incredible run of it and had travelled all over the UK and Ireland having the absolute time of my life, spreading joy and freeing souls as the God Dionysus (in human form) and funding myself by dishing out pardons for people’s sins in the name of the Pope. 

Whilst on my travels, people would often buy me drinks, feed me and occasionally put me up for the night if I regaled them with stories of my journeys around the world. 

Sometimes I told the truth, sometimes I embellished the truth and sometimes I completely made it up to see if people would believe me. I know. What a dick. 

This is the story of one such embellishment.

It was sometime in the late 1370s and, in a flush of mania, I had decided I would try my act out further afield. I had been following the rise of Bishop Alexander Burr, who was Bishop of Moray (Scotland at the time). I thought of him as the ultimate target and decided to see if my pardoner schtick would stand up with the Bishop and the ‘higher-ups’ in the Church. My ultimate ‘mark’ was King Robert II of Scotland, but I thought I’d practice on the Bishop. 

On the way I stopped off at, what I think I’ve now worked out was, Lossiemouth, then a smallish settlement in Moray, Scotland. The bleak beauty of the place had absolutely floored me and I decided to stay a few days to enjoy the freezing place and the incredibly warm local hospitality. 

I went to a small inn there and bedded down for the night, drinking with local fisherman. 

I’d brought some wine with me, which was a pain to carry all that way but totally worth it for the reactions of the locals who thought it was hilarious, and yet drank it dry. We’d been exchanging stories of my travels and their daily lives. With the wine and everything else we were drinking, my stories were getting more and more ridiculous, but everyone was lapping them up and I think, like the daft little show off I am, I was enjoying the attention. 

My last story of the night was a tale of a trip I had taken with two other lads in Aberdeen (Scotland) towards the beginning of the century. We had been sailing along, again absolutely away with the fairies on local booze and I’d seen something in the water. It’s likely it was some creature that had every right to be in the ocean. A big fish or some such glossy mammal having a mess about. Now on this particular day we laughed about it and retired ashore but, sat around this warm, Lossiemouth Inn, I took it a bit far. 

‘Huge it was! Scaly! The eyes of it had no soul and the sea seemed to shrink away from it as the clouds retired into the heavens! Colossal it was!!! We were just sailing along and all of a sudden, out the water flung the head of a huge sea serpent!! Terrifying!!’ Etc, Etc…. 

I finished my story, looked around at the faces in the firelight and instantly felt horrendous. 

They were scared stiff. These incredibly brave folk who lived and worked in brutal conditions and were much braver than I ever would be, looked at me, soggy eyed and with skin somehow ashen and burnished. I felt awful. 

The evening was quickly brought to an end and I slept where I had sat. I left in the morning, waving goodbye to my hosts and wincing slightly at a slightly awkward send off, the absolute antithesis of the welcome I had received. 

On my way back from my meetings with the Bishop I stopped back at the inn. This time it was empty and I sat and talked to the Landlady, Ora, who told me about how my tale had affected the audience, giving them an newfound aversion to the sea (which obviously isn’t ideal when you’re a sea fisherman). It had set their imaginations alight in a hugely unhelpful way and played on their fears of the unknown. I know. What a dick. To top it off, the children at the settlement were all having nightmares, ensuring none of the mams got any sleep. So you can imagine how popular I was with Ora. 

To my shame, I snuck out of town after hearing what I’d done, not wanting to face the fears I had caused. 

The thing is, people’s knowledge on science and the world and people’s baseline understanding of things was such at this time that tales of huge sea monsters, reading people’s minds, flying monks etc, WERE believable. Because anything is believable when your understanding of the world is limited in such a way that it actually removes the limits of what you’ll wholeheartedly believe. If that makes any sense? No?

Anyway. 

Ah well. 

SIKE.