No one remembers their first lie. Lies are too commonplace in our regular speech to always stand out as memorable, even to the most “truthful” and “noble” of us. We sugar coat, we falsely flatter. We extricate blame, avoid punishment. We play tricks. We lie. Rousseau lied. Churchill lied. Picasso lied. Kerouac lied. Billy Wilder lied. Your parents lied. Your precious Obama lied.
I lie.
I am lying to you right now.
The lie is our best friend and worst enemy. It drives us to create and destroy. I lie not because I am evil, but because I am human. My DNA says that I am unique, but that could also be a lie, and in that case, I, too, would be a lie. And all things considered, that wouldn’t be so bad...
My work is made of lies. I craft truths out of the world’s falsehoods. I pick and choose subjects’ best sounding lies and with them, I tell you a story. I place together synthesized sounds and experimental noise and call it a song. I add my own details – birds in the background, rigged moonlight through a window, reverb on a clean note – for the sole purpose of making you believe what I am telling you.
I make films because it’s the most obvious way to fool you – didn’t someone say that, “Seeing is Beliving?” (This person was also a liar). I make music because it’s the least explicit – I can hide my pathology, my quirks, my philosophies, my rants, within the abstract realms of timbre and drones. I write poetry and prose because it’s the most difficult way to tell a lie – boldly and bluntly, without the distractions of the physical.
I am a painter that can’t paint. A sculptor with no hand for carving. My medium is illusion. I put all my neuroses, sweat, and consciousness into the work only so that you never know how hard the process was. I hide the seams so that you never suspect me…
