Jeremy Geddes thinks something’s wrong with his liver…
In Jeremy Geddes’ case, self-reflection is left to the unconscious, to manifest as it will on the canvas. No, the Brooklyn painter’s process more closely resembles a vigorous self-examination, which I imagine going something like:
Patient Jeremy: My liver’s killing me, Doc.
Dr. Geddes: Put you paint so well, sonny boy. Cigarette?
Patient Jeremy: It’s true. Yes please! (Doc lights his cigarette) I painted myself playing video games on the couch, and it was fucking brilliant!
Dr. Geddes: You’re quite the specimen, sure. *sound of ice cubes in glass*
Patient Jeremy: But really, Doc, is there anything I can do about this pain? It feels like Camilla Parker Bowles is chewing her way out of me.
Dr. Geddes: Sweet Jesus! That’s a damn shame, sonny boy. I think more observation is called for – scotch still your drink?
Patient Jeremy: Just pour me a double and shut the fuck up, Doc.
To see what I mean, check out more of Jeremy’s captivating work. And pour yourself a double while you’re at it – we’re all gonna need one.