They say, when summer comes, superstar villains move from underneath our beds to vacation in Dolly Parton’s Tennessee Mountain home replica. Like an uncomfortable existence of a spring child of Marilyn Manson and Mickey Mouse, a real man who turned fiction, and a fictional character crowned ultimate good’s poster child, my work lingers on the brittle line between plastic reality and authentic pretension - Disneyland and Hollywood, Pleasantville and the street you were born on, a fatal crash and a ride in a bumper car. As I take myself on the binge between these worlds melting into one another, I am interested in objects we live with as signs, carriers of norms and values, and building blocks of new fantasy microcosms, where the hangover of that summer night cannot be washed away with orange juice.
