In my picture the street is a theatre. All over the place are exits and entrances, open windows into which we can glimpse little dramas, false starts and bad ends. The narrative winds around the space lassoing ideas. The disintegrating car (shades of of Laurel and Hardy) is only the start of it. Here comes the backward riding motor cyclist, the steam roller on ironing duty, the target practice from William Tell not to mention the Kiss and it's consequences. My work is a portmanteau, which contains a variety of tricks you can unpack. The sum total is a collection of near disasters that never quite happen. To paraphrase H.L.Menken: it serves to afflict the comfortable and to comfort the afflicted. As usual, try and find the cricket bat.