I’m generally uncomfortable talking about the meaning of my work.
I can discuss my thoughts while creating it, but I prefer the audience to create meaning in a sort of feed back loop between their personal narrative and my lines.
Because really often there isn’t a meaning.
Just a tumbling of thoughts, accidents and preoccupations that hopefully hold together on the page.
And sometimes the meaning might come later… by that I mean despite being the creator of the work sometimes I am able to, at a later date attach a meaning based upon my own personal narrative.
Take the above picture.
I began it in a cafe in Melbourne.
I finished it months later in front of a fire.
I thought of all the stoopdly mundane tasks I had to complete whilst I drew a naked woman. Later she grew a hand and it needed something in it.
I was shamelessly exploitative: I knew a bottle, a vessel, is descriptive.
It’s a symbol that people would easily weigh down with meaning and I wanted to anchor the character in some sort of action.
So I drew the bottle.
Now I am medicated for depression these days and I look at that picture and I weigh it down with meaning that never existed when the bottle and the naked lady was first drawn.
It has been entangled in a construct of my life’s narrative.
She mirrors back to me familiar despondencies.
And makes me think of the song
Take This Bottle by Faith No More.