Somewhere between The Wasteland and The Hollow Men this journey through the degradation of an urban warzone, an auto graveyard — the no mans land is perhaps the artist’s darkest hour. An unrelenting musing on consumerism, tarnished modernism and post-capitalist excess mesmerises like the unrelenting Wake of Joyce. Daydream-mares transported in idyllic decadence to museum on the ‘desert island’.
The title — Yard — is an old English measurement; a yardstick to measure the state of being or a place to hangout for disaffected youth. A dry, wry humour is still evident in the backwards evolution of the monkey-like/child-like mobiles, the playful palindromes and the art-historical eloquence of the language and visual puns.
But the warning of the twilight world, the theatrical lighting making the world more alluring than the cold light of day. Through the looking glass lies the future — or are we there already? Lit by a dozen mini-suns the outside inside caught in our between world.
Full of messages of perimeters and demarcation, reading meaning in the abstract the artist is inhabiting the Temporary Autonomous Zone of his sub-conscious, imagining art from waste. Patiently waiting for nature to embrace the abandoned landscape — to navigate the immortal plastic and metal with its inexorable tendrils. The modernist logic ends not with a bang but a tarnished mirror.)