To explain my, and why 'Charlatan', Artworks I'll have to split myself into The Poet and The Painter.
The poet claims credit and takes responsibility for everything a reader may ever read into his work of art. My painter, on his own account, does not. The painter does doodle, but cannot draw, and isn't even serious about his art, and sometimes seems to enjoy his freedom more. The poet calls the inking-artist Charlatan. That some folk actually prefer the pictures irks. The poet thinks himself nigh free and says the poetry exists above mere me. But to be a charlatan, by contrast, you'd have to sell your mountebank works. And commerce lowers tone, commits and vents vulgarity, like jerking off in church.
The mad thing is, the painter's compositional procedures appear to parody the poet's working practices, but more irresponsibly, with gestures, lashings of lap-adhesive paste and impudent smirks. I think he apes my own poetic thought, and his results are perfectly devoid of meaning anything much.
The charlatan remarks: I only thought the site could do with a bit of extra colour, maybe pictures, at some point, like here. We could have a gallery. Though I wasn't thinking of flogging stuff off, these are tuppence per your centimetre squared, say fifteen by ten and double, call it three a throw, or, discount, eight for twenty, quips or quid (his awkward quips, his squibby quirks). No but no, you can't bag these as I call 'ephemeral samples', but have to take what you're given for sold as given, or given as sold, if you see what I mean and as I said, these form the luck or tip of an impostor's perks.
Stop jabbering. Show us the pics. And the painter climbs back into his barrow to crank his pictorial art, and the crank sticks on the slides of works, crunching into gear to lurch no clutch but calling colour sense to eyes to touch and go fork out for liquid lunch and bump into a bunch or clump of such.
An Exhibition of Ephemeral Samples
Ink/collage on card. These examples approx. 10x15 cm.