Harley Roberts
Born and raised in Grimethorpe in the Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire, not the place he would have necessarily chosen from the brochure in limbo-between-birth, but he’s always blown his own trumpet, neither proud nor ashamed of his background which remains slightly out of focus. Lack of privilege can itself be a privilege, you are left with no illusions and therefore have to create your own.
The paintings depict dysphoria; whiffs of anguish in youth, familiar aphorisms of hope and mysticism, embellished with the idea of giving up even before birth. A painting should not be pinned down, because in actuality there is nothing accurate about it at all, but an improvisation of the things seen and felt. They are separated and populated by figures, groups of twos and threes and the haunting spectrality of one. They are fastened in poses that seem indicative of distress, loneliness, love, and sex, yet evading any definitive. Although walled-off and penned-in, exposure is near-unbearable.
