Ralph Steadman is the Mirror Man
Fall into a place where finding the demoralizing creepy is no feat at all. Where horror is a dismal lullaby and you run to find some gray door. There is a duality of man but all you see is some dark reflection that refuses you to fall asleep. So you do what most of we idiots do. You light up a cigarette. Grab a glass and sink into a cavity of mental daggers and blank chests.
There is something about the work of artist Ralph Steadman that can send any person with a conceptual idea of their own self into a pit of lucrative stable depravity. The twisting thoughts and tormented wines which allow Steadman to transcend such works is an absolute faction of him and something that we must force to believe we hold. Making it synthetic, trying so hard to share such amazement. The strokes in his sketches and postcards and whatever fucking other terms of art techniques he uses are like strings that the peaceful side of man’s duality tries to repress. Are these things grotesque? Maybe. I mean, it is hard to look into something that feels to present itself so true. Some of Steadman’s works might remind you of Hunter S. “Gonzo” Thompson. That’s because he did all of Hunter’s hauntingly tantalizing and memorable illustrations. Detailed sanity swirled into zen with evocatively repugnant depths of man’s reflection. Puke at the sight of them or gaze upon them with awe, chances are you’re still some kind of worthless crazy. But with works like these, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Their expressions, for the most part, send my lips craving for cigarettes and my tongue for something harsh. All in a room with dim lighting and a broken mirror. Like monsters contrived in brass and onyx clock towers, with gears turning and grinding away. Their deep bellowing screeches echoing through the corners of our very minds. A piece of man’s suppressed depth dripping unto a canvas showing things we dare not have nightmares of because they just might depress us too god damn much. Wings of a dismal carnage bleeding from coffee, cigarettes and whatever else fucking disheartens you. He portrays not the idea of the flesh but the twisted sadden monsters that stir and boil inside. And what beautiful monsters they are.
If you’d like to buy some of his incredible depictions to show off all your substance check out his website here .