
Thanks to all that came, Tiger for the beer and Oval for the Vodka and Mr jazz dance ... if there's a better reason for staying fully clothed in an art gallery I haven't seen one.
Paul Insect's refined interpretation of visceral subject matter has thrust him towards fame in the past year, with a noted collector absorbing his entire? ‘Bullion’ exhibition. Equally, Paul’s work has evolved considerably. Victorian graphics have been replaced by Dada-ist collages fusing adolescence, aggression, and rough-around-more-than-just-the-edges pornography. These motifs are tempered by a joyous use of colour and an ambitious style. Equally, the images are provoking and provocative: dripping as much with sensitivity and gravitas as they are with sex and death. Moreover, they are a window onto the mind of the frustrated modern male: boiling over with unkempt aggression and sexuality, but yearning somehow for a higher moral purpose than the gradual accumulation of acceptance. Clowns crack and go on the rampage; kids in cowboy outfits contemplate the worth of their peers; and babies are contented to consider the consequences of the quantum age.