I don't know where to begin. I remember flipping through my sketchbook, tried to focus to brainstorm some ideas. I began to write words, scribbles ugly drawings, unusual thoughts. I was angry. I was angry . I told you I was angry. I knew my theme this time was anger, and I knew it was a perfect moment to come up with perfect ideas, but I couldn't think, my mind were everywhere like a broken cassette tape. I breath for a while, a deep one too, believe me it was long. I tried to focus, I looked at the space around me. Then I realized, my anger is bearable, I could be sitting inside my comfort zone; my comfy black couch, drinking some orangina watching Family Guy, ambience of Pink Floyd on the background as I sang along inside my voice, but I really was not singing, I was angry. I felt like I was stuck in a box of my own comfort where I could not get out. I couldn't find the way out of the maze. Sometimes instead of searching the way out, I stayed in silence. Maybe a couple of tear drops would not kill the mood, as I felt it streamed down my cheeks, I laughed at the same time as I caught on a funny part on the show, I couldn't help not to laugh. After those long laughs, I stare at the TV quite blankly, I was upset, angry, I felt like breaking something, I felt like running outside to let myself out, but most of the time I am always stuck in that BOX of anger, in my comfort zone.
I literally eat my brain out to come up with these images that capture the meaning of my conception. What's it all about? It speaks of every single aspect of this amazing, brilliant world where I live a not so amazing life. I walked around downtown trying to capture the emotions, the very single personality of the individual that walks on Yonge st.Rather they walk with their Uggs boots, Coach purses, TNA bags, Prada purses, and those Timberland boots, and those other non-creative brands that are shockingly expensive. I wonder, those people.. tsk,I mean what the F, do you just let your high finance over power who you are? They are basically duplicates, in my opinion anyways. And what about those people that have hundreds of condos, and don't even live in them? What's the meaning of owning so much? I guess it's all the pride that matters.
This photographs are just my illustration of how i portray those behaviors. It is not the most literal photos, but that's howI like my art to be. The pieces are basically Monopoly's little houses placed on humans surfaces. As you know, I'm sure you have played plenty of monopoly games back in the days, when you play monopoly, where you basically place those little houses on the land property that you have owned. This basically portray how people own themselves with those high-end fancy financial status, without them noticing, they have spoiled themselves. Spoiled your own identity.