Watercolour, gouache, ink, pen, graphite on watercolour paper.
56cm x 82cm.


The dishonouring man is a man at war, at war with an essence that gives him his life. Alien to him, with a will of its own, and an intelligent curiosity that is mistaken for lust, the dishonourable man makes his penis an adversary.

Alive to the world as its agent is not, it rises and sniffs at the air laden with scents, drawing portraits of the vibrant universe both within and without.

The dishonouring man beats at this rising with blind desperation. He strangles and suffocates, turns away from the gift offered of deep sensual journeys into the bliss of discovery: a gift to be honoured, to be nurtured, fed with delight – intriguing and profoundly astonishing.

Engorged with the beating, vasculature distended incandescent with molten blood, his core cauterized by the white heat of inflamed desperation that will never to be satiated, the thrashing chokes out fluid. The dishonouring man satisfies himself with nothing beyond this torture.

He lies spent in his sweat, glutinous juice slathered across thighs that gets discarded as excrement.

Blistered head, blood-raw from battle, his thrashed penis flaccid in retreat, cries the pain of abuse in silence and dies a little more to the man it once loved.

This man has no right to call himself Man.