A lot rough around the edges, I know that I am too damaged to be loved. But aren’t all of us? If only love was easy, we’d never fix the damage caused. Walking around these paintings that have probably hung onto the same nail for years, seeded in me the fact that we’re all a piece of stretched canvas waiting to painted in a way we love with the colours the major portion our wardrobes hold, framed and mounted, glazed and preserved, glassed and varnished till we find that nail and hang onto it for as long as the walls don’t crash.
Infinite boulevard 