Better Weather

There’s always that one like guilty sliver of remaining hope, right? You know, Wile E Coyote running off a cliff edge and flapping his arms in the moment before dropping? That sliver.

Desert Islands are hermetically sealed jokes, only what’s necessary for the punchline will ever wash up on the island.
                What punchline?

Like a David lynch, hit ‘em with the comfortable, the familiar first. Keep it picket fences and well-kept lawns. Then let ‘em look closer

Who doesn’t want to stare out a window that’s not a window - it’s a quilt, and see that ‘Yep, I’m still stuck on this fucking island.’
                Less rat piss though, probably. Less chance to get Weil’s.

It’s escapism, really. Can never get that second foot out of the real world, though.

One time, there were crows here, a whole load of them giving a pile of men’s shoes a real picking over.
                 What?
No, really. Just over there.

It’s escapism, really. Just the same loop repackaged with better weather.

All this mud, it’s left over from months ago, when all the trees dropped their conkers (i think they’re conkers) and they just rotted here on the ground.
                   And?
And so mind what shoes you wear.

And everything turned to pulp.

Alex Williamson makes drawings and textiles that incorporate and play with the relationships between image and text. His work pulls from traditions of quilting and comedy as a means of finding catharsis and comfort. A search for relief or closure is self-consciously presented as a never-ending absurdist joke