As the world turns itself into a melodrama of an absurdist kind, so too must our consciousness be drawn to the reality of said predicament: we must no longer be the passive archivist but instead become an active participant in the negotiations between that which we already perceive as real and that which we have not yet allowed ourselves to perceive as real. Often, the most direct means of articulating this is through literal and visual language. Though objects are also useful appendages to this, language, for the most part, enacts the centrifugal force, around which supplementary elements orbit, in the works that I have come to produce.
My practice attempts to render the impossible as a means of extending our line of thought from linearity into laterality. What I mean by this is that if we can somehow visualize Nelson Goodman’s concept of the “irreal”, then perhaps we come to understand the limits of the real and therefore acknowledge the rift between what we believe to be real and what actually is. In said acknowledgement the vulnerability of empirical existence is felt more than ever, as we are faced with our impending death looming at its base. Thus, ignorance becomes irretrievable, and the only necessity is consistent motion, in order to push outwards, to feel the edges of the horizon, perhaps akin to the closing sequence of Peter Weir’s The Truman Show.
Philosophical thought has at its core the intention of providing a purposefully skewed perspective, one which looks through a more distorted lens than the prescription to which we are accustomed. However, where philosophy in the written form fails to activate this lens, the performance becomes the tandem with which to activate the stagnant, and often circumferential, nature of these texts. Where language and ideology become elitist and insular, the moment they become relational to popular culture they suddenly make a great deal more sense. My performances are often - if not always - led by an amateur director whose sole intention is direct misdirection. With a mixture of found materials, conspiracy theories, philosophical writings, musings and popular culture references, they form themselves before me in conglomerations of fact and fiction, absurdity and morbid reality, entertainment and education.
The more recent body of work uses an apparatus of an alter ego of sort by the name of Slick Reno. His recent performance No One Can Die in Disneyland weaves fictional tales, cartoon references and contemporary philosophical theory into lecture, which slowly descends into chaos. His body of work exists in its own right. His practice is specifically influenced by the reiteration of the cowboy, humour, gender, glamour and the relationship between critique and entertainment: it is what one might describe as a sandwich of American cheese and English ham.
The documentation of my performances also become works in their own right, acting as an extension of, and diversion from, the live act. In these mediums, the operations of varying TED talks, the encounter of musicians with their respective audiences, the translation of an IKEA instructional manual into an object, the manner in which each person performs the lyrics of a Mariah Carey track at karaoke, the repetition of a statement in varying degrees of emotional nuance in the actor, Wolfie’s eyes popping out of his head with infatuation are all forms of both communicable and incommunicable language that inform how I ground the fluidity of my practice.