Death-obsessed and liminal; demarcating a visceral junction of the gay, the grotesque and the wildly overstated. It's something like grafting the rot of ages onto the depravity of Classicism, or maybe like putting a dress on dirt; in there exists a fragmented and bent aesthetic --- with occasional taxidermy. This is my journal, my sketchbook, my card index. Think recombination, schism, suture, graft and
shard; Chrysalis, threshold, shattered mirror jarred.
Who would want to top Jessy Karson? Other than not having a beard —- which is the most major form of sexual currency these days —- it is almost a shame to see him bottom.