Somebody finds his music in a state of singularity after smoking two joints in a row.
Somebody finds his colours and mad brush strokes in every women’s empowering assess.
Somebody finds his monochromatic frames in the difference between melancholic whores and slutty mannequins.
Somebody finds his stories in kittens of the gutters.
For me it has always been; getting away from people,
the humidity of those last moments…those turned stares…those imaginations of looking at a person for the last time…
I found my art through the isolation of breaking stuffs and through the isolated broken stuffs.

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Photographs: Timothy Howell.