Untitled #1(Sun,Moon, Earthed, Unearthed), 2017
Silver Gelatin Print

Untitled #2(Sun, Moon, Earthed, Unearthed), 2017
Silver Gelatin Print

Untitled #3(Sun, Moon, Earthed, Unearthed), 2017 
Silver Gelatin Print

My work is a constant evolution that is currently deeply immersed in a post-war modernist sensibility; taking cues from a wide range of artistic influence including but not limited to Mark Rothko, Barnett Newman, Robert Rauschenberg, Joseph Bueys and Anselm Kiefer. And though I find myself constantly wrapped up in violent post-war existentialist crises, in addition, I find myself taking additional cues from Matthew Barney’s male-driven obsessions, Jonathan Meese’s playful insanities, as well as deep influence from the history of noise based artists, obscure occultists such as Aliester Crowley and Helena Blavatsky; and lastly, anything and everything lying far, far out on the fringes of western culture be it critical theory and literature, music, anarchic pirate utopias or even vast criminal undergrounds. I wish to push as deep as possible into that realm of internalized, psychic space and personalized myth making; subconscious totems; ouroboric cycles; monumental ego-decay. According to Sylvere Lotringer, speed and technology threaten to shut down our ability to discover and explore. From there one could easily assume that in our media saturated hyperreal existence, inner space may be the last frontier. If Lotringer is correct in that a state of world peace and ever pervasive technology has given way to a state of “pure war”, then the post-war existentialist crisis marked only the beginning….

in my cave cathedral
you came with vacuous sunrise tears
naked penetration, our virginal violence
a full moon breath
improvised binding
L ringing
and in three days time ties that bind
have you noticed that the sky is raining ashes today.
bound by the wrists
we heal the scars that rain from our eyes
we were so naïve,
thinking we were only playing with matches
we struck like lightning
igniting an uncontrollable inferno
with vapors so hot they choke out the sun
and when we crumble together,
we’ll spread with the wind of our own melancholy delusions

I now fly with phoenix wings
Between warm Saturnalia rings

Website: http://justinterference.com/