Read Me Not

A collection of imagined portraits over book covers meets with an embrace, a held connection between spine and title and broken folds in book pages and old glue. Between the torn pages and black typeface, there are countenances that are ambiguous but unreal, made up in oil paint and torn tissue spreading palette and little rolls of paper left on bare book backgrounds. Brought about by a lack of mirrors in the studio and home, these portraits arise from practised thought and exposure to the textures of skin and skidded paint over face and cover. The portraits are subject to no prose or written word or turned page as no pages are left. Only the. board and possibly a spine remain. The faces feel in fiction and fade into fabric. Yet, there is nothing to read. Read Me Not.