Yo! Picasso! Put That Shit Away. There's No Need For Agro. Print

One dank, rainy London evening, I decided to commit suicide to escape from both the societal and self-inflicted creative and subject constraints I felt weighing heavily upon me and thereby creating a vacant, empty sterile shell of both human being and artist. I couldn’t fuck an artwork into Frida Kahlo. But rather than stepping from this mortal coil, I awoke anew, pushed aside the rock that blocked my exit and declared that the day should be a celebration on which parents should stuff their children with high sugar content shit in celebration of the rising of Haribo Cosmo Jones (HCJ)! Huzzah! Effectively, I had unchained my creative expression through the birth of an alter ego. But also, I have been developing HCJ as a work in and of himself. A loose commentary on the idea of “Artist/ Artiste” and the definition and classification of taste: what’s considered socially palatable by a small and elite subsection of self-elected people. Well, if those are the rules, I’ve decided to elect myself as enfant terrible, bastardo-extremo, fuck-head, daring, artistic madman/genius just for the fuck of it, and in doing so, exploring HCJ’s relation to this elitist construct of the art world. Haribo Cosmo Jones is not an alien construct; he’s just the taboo, the dark and the repressed. The thoughts, feelings, fantasies and eccentricities I might otherwise be hesitant, wary or even frightened to explore…. Hedonism, voyeurism…these are pleasing attributes. Thus, Haribo Cosmo Jones is a platform to explore all of these dirty, sexy, juicy human titbits. HCJ is feminist. HCJ is indulgent. HCJ sharpens his tongue nightly with a file. A politically, emotionally and intellectually investigatory, conniving bastard… from a background of vast creativity, seething social critique and commentary, anti-apartheid jail cell hunger strikes, hobnailed boots to policeman ball sacks, truth and reconciliation commissioning, marching, acting, defying. Fuck armchair left-wingers! HCJ is a constantly evolving, interacting, intermingling human construct…and what a dinner party guest. Haribo Cosmo Jones. Sexier than Jesus, better dressed than Santa …wouldn’t be caught dead nailed to a cross or up a fucking chimney. -Haribo Cosmo Jones Londinium 2017.