21—24_ pink boyI was sitting in a train, holding a small sketchbook, going to see my sisters up north.
The collage painting cycle of the previous year felt done and I was looking for a complete break, something less artsy, less found photo based, more direct.
How to talk about the end of a certain 20th century dream of America, personal and generational guilt, the plague of hypermasculinity?
Thinking about my earlier cartoon paintings and leaning on Guston and Yuskavage, I wondered what my cigar smoking klansmen or bad babies would be; what was the stupidest anti-art character I could come up with that combined male aggression with heartbreak, ego, shame, naïvety?
I wrote down ‘romantic ’80s hair metal guy’.
Pink Boy, a trope lost in time, permanently blushing, asking to be loved despite having ruined everything.
