Somewhere between figurative horror and abstract realism, Francis Bacon makes me feel dark and similar. I’m talking about his portraits of people, drenched in rawness, evoking inner emotions by showing a psyche of pain. Dark terror including red intensifying screams.
Where is your identity? I’m looking for your mask of normality and banal lies. Hidden behind a surface of restlessness, revealing what we all are.
Next to this an enlargement of Anish Kapoor that touches you on your inside, showing you the inside. Feeling sick or scared by recognition. Meaty lumps of silicone flesh, just like your interior, bloody painful.
Bacon without meat. Fruity saltness, served on everything you want, including the hand. Smoked and perfect, terrifyingly vegan.
