Dictators Garden
Born to an old-school disciplinarian, under the reign of a kleptomaniac, my aversion to authority is raw. It did not help, that as a schoolchild, I was taunted for my ‘monkey face’ and ‘sausage lips’. The bullying drove me deeper into the shell imposed by unreasonable expectations and draconian punishments at home. My paintings pull me from that shell by capturing fleeting moments of beauty in my subjects. The innate goodness present within us all is most jarring when perceived in those with power and authority, especially those who abuse such positions in their thirst for absolute loyalty. Hence my fascination with megalomaniacs and autocrats.Stripped of all symbols of power and domination, terror and suppression, and the general stateliness and grandeur ordinarily inherent in portraits of such leaders, they are replaced with fragile flowers and wilting annuals. Birds and flowers are uninterested in them, beauty and harmony are unsuppressed by their stern glances. They too, are now susceptible to bruising and browning, attracting viewers to the human faces of ugliness. Strength presented in fragility exposes the human weakness behind grand egos; beauty contrasted with and smothering the monstrous. Interdependent and contradictory ideas must be metabolised but are more often ignored to allow us to remain engaged with our own personal realities.My images confront the duplicity of human nature, raising an instinctive discomfort and motivating a dialogue on the root causes of evil and the Authoritarian Drive, and the desire to be catalysts for a joyful and apolitical utopia.
Donald Trump
50.8 cm x 40.5 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2019
A picture of perfect empathy. I am Donald begging forgiveness. I stand in the shoes of the crying Muslim Gold Star mother. I am her dead soldier. Hold your breath and await my many confessions. I am your child again.
Justin Trudeau
76.2 cm x 76.2 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2019
This is Justin mesmerised by his youthful reflection in a pond of lilies.
Why him?
Ask the aboriginal community. Let them tell you how they feel. The ugly truth lurking. The rotting legacy.
Vladimir Putin
50.8 cm x 50.8 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2019
You charlatan. The best spy on the planet. Absurdity embraces his domineering, larger than life character. The flowers around his neck represent the eccentricity that tie him to the real world.
Wink, wink.
Rober Mugabe
50.8 cm x 60.96 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2017
I am certain Robert was as gay as a flower. Look at him. Observe his mannerisms. The misleading stereotypes. I would like to believe Robert was a gentleman. He would be appalled by the green spectacles and beg me to take them right off.
Oh Robert, you are so pretty.
Joseph Stalin
50.8 cm x 60.96 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2016
Young Joseph loved flowers. The keen gardener developed a 20-hectare park in which he devoted ample time to agricultural experiments.
It was a wild and deathly garden.
Kim Jong-Un
50.8 cm x 76.2 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2015
The bra on Kim’s head represents his youth, which given his status, it is easy to imagine his access to free sex and orgies.
The poppies represent a drug-fuelled freedom, which the average North Korean appears not to enjoy.
Muammar Gaddafi
60.96 cm x 60.96 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2013
Muammar was in the shower when struck with a bright idea.
Into the garden he ran, a dozen virgin mermaids waiting by the pool.
Muammar serenaded the virgins with his most musical base, wiggling and beckoning they stand on water around him.
That whole afternoon, he instructed the virgin mermaids on how to play with his rubber ducky.
From miles away, they were heard giggling.
Idi Amin Dada
76.2 cm x 60.96 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2009
You may not recognise him as a gentle and beautiful father.
He is the Butcher of Uganda.
Imagine feeding your enemies to crocodiles, enjoying the disloyal devoured.
And then you play with your children in the pool and read them bedtime stories.
Pol Pot
91.44 cm x 60.96 cm
Acrylic on Canvas
2009
Old Pol Pot enjoyed nothing more than tending to his garden. Pruning the roses. Listening to the drizzle of the watering jug.
Beneath peaceful soil, dead souls cry.