Judith Supine is a magpie. From his creative process that involves buying, stealing and salvaging books and magazines from which to procure visual imagery, to his work environment, “a nest of trash”, right down to his alias that is borrowed from his mother’s maiden name; this is an artist whose very existence is a pastiche of lost and found.
He cuts and pastes and recreates, reassembling his spoils in humorous, poignant, meaningless, haphazard collage. From there it’s photocopying and enlarging, then washing over with unnatural shades of paint, and finally sealing his creations in with a glossy skin of flowing resin. What was in his younger days a drug-fuelled, semi-conscious flight into delusion is now a thoughtful, deliberated process, but at the hand of a feminine and violent enfant terrible, the outcome is no less commanding, dangerous or real.
Out of this process of deconstruction through reconstruction emerges a disconcertingly surreal subject matter depicted in psychedelic neon acrylics. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before, and yet, there are faces and figures and formations that you’ve seen everywhere: in dreams, on the pages of magazines, on television screens, and between the hefty covers of art history from over the aeons.