Bad Advice from Shitty Magazines III Print

Utilizing layering and color tension, I create chaotic, claustrophobic, and fragmented spaces to evoke feelings of both the passing and collapsing of time. I like to describe my work broadly as a surreal blend of memento mori and pop art. More specifically vague, I like to say that all my work is a form of self-portraiture through everyday objects and the disenchanted lens of the millennial generation. As I work through these themes, ideas of time and memory frequently bubble to the surface as my subjects find themselves being overtaken by and dissolving into the eerie flickering haze of a cell phone’s glow, the misty atmosphere of dust motes, and the stagnant repetition of fading vintage wallpapers. My work encapsulates my fears around aging. Of running out of time to accomplish all that I wanted, and perhaps more importantly, all that was expected. My work is about my anxieties in general and the ways in which the outside world has set expectations surrounding adulthood and cultural milestones which I have failed to live up to for a myriad of reasons that may or may not be my own fault, as I have yet to make this distinction. I like to do this with a sense of humor. I’m not sure if this makes the work easier for the viewer to digest, or easier for me to make. Maybe both. I like to pretend I make art that is relevant and comprehensible to the general population. But really, I aim to make art for me and those who will find my experiences relatable. The millennials. The disenchanted. The anxious malcontents who were promised the American Dream and that hard work and a college education would pay off. Those that came of age just as the economy collapsed and the housing bubble burst. I make work for people who can’t sleep at night because their internal voice is restless and they thought a new puppy would fill the void, but now they’re barefoot on the lawn at 3am, clutching a leash while unblinkingly scrolling TikTok. Scrolling and scrolling and clutching and scrolling with dry eyes and cold wet feet and the insurmountable weight of lost time bearing down on them.