I’m product of a broken home, hostels, council estates, gang violence, drugs and poverty. An obstreperous, angry, partially deaf, dyslexic and overly hyperactive child, given sedatives from the age of two because I used to smack my head off walls, and drive people up them.
I was told I wasn’t an artist by a faculty of sociopaths at school who just hadn’t spotted I learned differently, so I stopped going, and spent my time racking pens, listening to Punk music, getting legs off people and breaking into abandoned warehouses & mental asylums.
I started bombing graff for a bit in my teens, experimenting with Photoshop from 96, but spent the next 15 years at raves abusing psychedelic drugs. I went to university so I could use the loans to pay off my drug dealers and came out with a Philosophy degree, exchanging 5k debt for 30, but I did get a nice piece of paper to show for it and my legs hadn’t been broken.
I moved into a studio producing electronic music for just under a decade, running labels, making albums, mixing bands and engineering for some pretty epic sound systems, festivals and events, but I grew tired of working to help facilitate the achievement of other peoples goals, so now I make mess where I used to make noise.
In my spare time I write sarcastic statements on government buildings because they murder the disabled and illegally sell weapons to people who blow up kids in the Middle East, enjoy long walks & Epstein didn’t kill himself. Somehow I make a living painting now, which was all I ever wanted to do in the first place. So, I wake up grateful every day, and I guess that’s the best fuck you to the world that I could give.