One could suppose that an introduction is probably in order. Something explaining most if not all of the top 5; the who, what, where, when and why. I should at least open with a joke or a salutation or most likely a proverbial olive branch. We could just do the old name, rank and serial number routine and let the work speak for me. In the very least you should know that my first name is pronounced Ian. If you insisted I would tell you that I am a father a painter and a hockey goalie. (In that order) And that there is a very big part of me that is more than a little
heartbroken that I wont play in the NHL someday. You should also know that I have seen David Bowie in concert 5 times and that I have travelled so much that I have been drunk on five continents. For example, I could tell you how to get to Kazinczy Ter from Wesselenyi Utca even after too many Unicum. (Perhaps you had to be there.) I have slept on beaches all night. Felt the cold embrace of the wrath of grapes and walked on the grass even when the sign said not to. I have crawled out of windows and have placed my hand on a hundred different burners just to see if it still burns. I also prefer the first Bond and have inhaled. I know all the words to most Duran Duran songs. And that the women I have fallen in love with (you know who you are) have all been amazing broads. Also that I have crashed with both bangs and whimpers.
I should probably tell you that my work comes from a very instinctual place. That I barely take myself seriously but that my work is heart attack serious. You should also know that since I am the Artist-In-Residence at the Susan Kristjansson Gallery, I have a very working class approach to my work. The fact is that I come to the gallery to work every day (cough cough). And I know what you are thinking, "Man it must be hard to wake up at 11 o'clock in the morning everyday."
Let me tell you....it really isn't.
But work I do. Anyone who visited the gallery this summer would have found me on the back patio, elbow deep in Krylon, my Ipod on random, a hint of White Widow in the air, SPF 60 on my face and my work on my work table or three different easel's or on the patio itself ("I swear that hot pink spraypaint was already on the deck when I got here this morning Susan.")
I should probably tell you that my work comes from a very instinctual place. That I barely take myself seriously but that my work is heart attack serious. You should also know that since I am the Artist-In-Residence at the Susan Kristjansson Gallery, I have a very working class approach to my work. The fact is that I come to the gallery to work every day (cough cough). And I know what you are thinking, "Man it must be hard to wake up at 11 o'clock in the morning everyday."Let me tell you....it really isn't.
But work I do. Anyone who visited the gallery this summer would have found me on the back patio, elbow deep in Krylon, my Ipod on random, a hint of White Widow in the air, SPF 60 on my face and my work on my work table or three different easel's or on the patio itself ("I swear that hot pink spraypaint was already on the deck when I got here this morning Susan.")
Perhaps I should set the (immediate) scene for you. 
Let you know that I am in the main room of the gallery, my computer on my knees, sitting beside the seven foot windows. Which, at the moment, are being pelted by the spastic tap dance of angry rain. If I were so inclined I would turn up the Iggy Pop on my IPOD, perhaps press the save now button here on this MENAGE A UN post and take my paintings down.
The works of Dave Amos and Ian MacLean (to the right and left of me on the exhibition card respectively) were already taken down by my gallerist/therapist/bartender Susan Kristjansson. But her love of a particular kind of tea (the very deep and strong Menghai Gong Ting Pu Erh) means that I am left alone as she hunts for that particular Yunnan Province delicacy. (As she had run out.) And in the quiet of the empty gallery, as Iggy Pop turns into Bebel Gilberto in my ears, and all that is left of Facades; Outside/In is my work., I must tell you - I feel just fine.
Let you know that I am in the main room of the gallery, my computer on my knees, sitting beside the seven foot windows. Which, at the moment, are being pelted by the spastic tap dance of angry rain. If I were so inclined I would turn up the Iggy Pop on my IPOD, perhaps press the save now button here on this MENAGE A UN post and take my paintings down.The works of Dave Amos and Ian MacLean (to the right and left of me on the exhibition card respectively) were already taken down by my gallerist/therapist/bartender Susan Kristjansson. But her love of a particular kind of tea (the very deep and strong Menghai Gong Ting Pu Erh) means that I am left alone as she hunts for that particular Yunnan Province delicacy. (As she had run out.) And in the quiet of the empty gallery, as Iggy Pop turns into Bebel Gilberto in my ears, and all that is left of Facades; Outside/In is my work., I must tell you - I feel just fine.
