The first solo show I ever did at the Floating Goose was called “You Look Great”. In fact, it
was the first solo show I ever did, period. The theme of my show was something to the effect
of “Excepting yourself for who you are”. The phrase “You look great” was a reference to a
scene from the animated Cartoon Network show ‘Adventure time’. I can’t remember the
exact nature of the reference. It wasn’t a particularly prominent scene. I think there was
simply a smashed mirror with a post-it note reading “You look great”. I loved that. Like
despite your appearance, you look great. It was a statement, I thought, we all could learn
from. I mean, of course, you have to actually apply that logic, which is far harder than just
speaking the words. Despite being wholesome at its core, it honestly seems a little corny
now. A broad and ambitious statement from a young and naïve individual with the best of
intentions but lacking the life skills to actually truly implement them. Years later and I still
don’t really know what self acceptance truly looks like. But one thing I’m almost certain of is
that you won’t find it in a mirror.

What does it even mean to look “great”? Especially, seeing as though attractive aesthetic
appearance is entirely subjective. I guess, by this context of the word great, I didn’t
necessarily mean greatness. Not in the same way as our good friend Alexander. No, I guess
“great” in this context must mean you are simply enough. You, in all your stinking glory are
entirely adequate. Warts and all. Yeah, that’s never going to stick. If the self-help industry
teaches us anything, it’s to never be content. Well, I’m generalising. But in a way, they are all
banking on you looking in the mirror and not liking what you see. Of course, some of this
mentality feels intrinsically human, to be constantly striving for more, because of course,
enough is never enough. As they say, “otherwise we would have never come down from the
trees.”

During the period my show was open at the Goose, someone stole two of my paintings. Right
off the wall. In broad daylight. I don’t remember being particularly concerned, which is
strange, seeing as in my everyday life sweating the small things is quite commonplace. I
think the idea of theft is often more exciting than the actual event. What’s interesting is that I
had decorated the space to look a rather run down and dilapidated, with walls that perhaps
went a little too far with its resemblance to something of a crack-den. I overheard a few
people commenting on the state of the gallery, sharing words such as “they really need to
clean that place up” and “gross”. Absolute music to my ears. It is quite possible that given the
appearance of the gallery, someone walked past thinking the works were just a piece of
furniture destined for disposal. I mean, I guess, I’m trying to give them the benefit of the
doubt, because otherwise they just steal shit to steal shit and they are slowly draining all the
good from the world and we’re all doom. Well, regardless, I thought they demanded a little
more respect than that, but I don’t know. There has to be some correlation.

Without drawing out any level of suspense, you can indeed shuffle back from the edge of
your seat because someone found the works only a day after they went missing. Apparently,
some guy was just walking past with them under his arm. According to him, they were sitting
by a dumpster around the corner of the gallery. My guess was someone took them over to
Cash Converters. They didn’t offer him (or her, but let’s be honest, far more likely him) any
money, so he (again, or her. But again, definitely him) bailed and dumped them. So, all’s well
that ends well. I guess?

I think it’s easy to have an experience like a theft and become embittered, but that’s sort of the risk you take when you are vulnerable. People will often take things from you when you
take risks, whether that’s the positive feeling you get from liking a song before reading it got
terrible reviews, or the smile on someone’s face when they realise they are the butt of a joke.
In a lot of ways, the theft highlighted the theme of the show. Despite the loss, the act of
sharing your imperfections ultimately reinforces the journey towards self-acceptance, a road
paved with both positive and negative experiences. Every show I’ve made since “You Look
Great” has been in a similar vein, but in many ways, it seems the goal post of self-acceptance
is ever-moving. I really wanted to end this thing with some sort of epiphany that tied
everything in a neat little bow, but I’ve got to admit, my conclusion feels a little forced. In
reality, I’m beginning to think there isn’t one. We fumble about yelling into the void these
grand endeavours for revelation but put simply, it’s hard. I share an equal amount of disdain
for the weirdo looking back at me on any given reflexive surface as the next guy. I do not
have the answers, but if I ever figure it out, you will be the first to know.