Often when I’m creating work it’s in an absolute frenzy. I’m slapping on glue and paper, getting bits stuck to my face, the hairs on my hands become stuck together like childish dreadlocks.
Then, once I’m done, I’m done. I don’t touch the thing again. Last weekend though, I went back inside the studio after not being in there a couple of weeks – and I pulled this old landscape from the cupboard.
The colours were always a bit muted for me, it was something out of character. This time when I looked at it I really wanted to do something different to what I normally would do. This time I thought I’d give a go at destroying myself.
I live in a the country now and I grew up in the country and this picture of the lake always reminded me of dusk on duck hunts. It reminded me of how manly men become when they go out hunting together, there’s a real sense of bravado, amping up the masculinity. No one wants to be seen to be a pussy, so they drink and curse and spit and piss in the bush.
What struck me it how fine the line is between machismo and homo. The whole crazy No Homo thing always seemed to have an undercurrent of homosexuality to it. So, I trawled through my stash of magazines and put together a collection of shirtless hunters and hicks, tossed in some painfully hip hipsters and a women holding a great phallic rocket for good measure.
It’s the gayest and straightest piece I’ve ever produced. I enjoyed reworking old work, but surprisingly it reopened old wounds, stirring the homophobia in the homosexual.