Why I Paint Bears Instead Of People
fozzie, pooh, paddington- there’s a lot of cuddly bears out there. However, in the world of a broken apple, they often bite.
no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but create cute works that are simultaneously unsettling. Give me a sweet mouse- he’s now a scheming street rat, a fluffy white cat starts to question his role in capitalism. a wiggly companion becomes a worm with a taste for poker- the list goes on and on.
The bear? He looks at childhood, softness and safety while also exploring danger and unpredictability. Bears have that '“so adorable I wanna squeeze it” quality, while holding terrifyingly enormous strength.
He allows us to look at human behaviour through the cushion of a fable. A bear carries far less baggage than a person. He has no age, race, profession or social status for us to immediately judge. Instead, we project ourselves onto him. His triumphs become ours, his embarrassments feel familiar, and his mistakes are easier to forgive.
I think that's why I keep returning to him. He lets me ask uncomfortable questions without pointing a finger. He can be vulnerable without becoming sentimental, ridiculous without becoming cruel, and frightening without losing his warmth. He's a contradiction, just like the rest of us.
Perhaps that's what A Broken Apple has always been about. Not animals behaving like people, but rather, people behaving like animals- seen from just enough distance that we might recognise ourselves,
