The Night Gallery of Shoddy Art

Never terribly artistic, I hold the distinction of being the only pupil in my 'O' Level Art class not allowed to sit the exam; the reason, according to my drug-addled teacher, being that I was the most talentless boy he had ever encountered. For many years I fretted over this, before acquiring the wisdom to appreciate that it doesn't make much difference in the universal scheme of things. Mr Bastard is probably dead or institutionalised - or perhaps living a nightmare, 'teaching' in an inner city school - each day jostled by psychotic pupils and mocked and spat upon by them, as well as by his colleagues; each night traipsing the streets in a miasma of despair, desperately seeking affection, but paying for sordid sex. Bitter? What on earth makes you think I'm bitter, for Goodness' sake? It was all a long time ago and I say, "forgive and forget". I was merely speculating on what might be - nothing more, I assure you.

Mr Bastard, if you are still teaching - and if the latest generation of ultra-violent, completely disrespectful 'kids' will allow you access to an unbroken, unstolen computer - you may feast your bloodshot, drug-bleared eyes upon these poor offerings. Be cheered to know that however bad things may seem, they may get very much worse before the end. After which, who knows? Oh, and have a nice day!

A highly-desirable Purple Woman, from my home page.

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An earlier, and even uglier, Home Page Image.

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Modified Siân Phillips. Have I mentioned that she is a goddess, The Goddess, etc?  I'd not normally be so bold as to tamper with *Her*, but the limitations of my scanner and software compel certain remedial treatments.  It was absolutely necessary, you see, to affix her wonderful head on to the body of a more scantily-clad female.   Really, the original reproduction was unusable.

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The Goddess again - this time in suspenders, and more decoratively 'arty'.  The silly little flowers might indicate a title of 'Flora' or something classical.  You be the judge, unless you'd rather not. Again, I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't help myself... er, the original, um, didn't come out right.

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The Turner Prize is mine! Or perhaps not.

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