Original artwork
kate finn collection
if Bukowski at my Brain
TRAPPED 2018
This piece is like the final act of a play where the word marriage has become a biased tidy single polaroid picture. One that is safely tinted to resemble an old photo, echoing my desire to control how I want to remember this period of my life. It personifies a life I can’t believe I ever lived.

TRAPPED 2018
I believe there is some truth when people say that you only remember the good moments in life because my brain harbours a large cow pat used to fill a certain hole left over from my past.
I have no solid visual memories of the time I spent as a married woman. I know this is some sort of conscious choice, but I can’t even remember what my ex husband looked like. However, when I attempt to really focus on my memories of our life together, all I experience is a dull physical feeling of being trapped under a heavy blanket. The only moments I can recall as a couple, are those where he did something that was stupid, and I laughed at him. In short, If I played a chronological film in my head of these years, he’s not in it.
This piece is like the final act of a play where the word marriage has become a biased tidy single polaroid picture. One that is safely tinted to resemble an old photo, echoing my desire to control how I want to remember this period of my life. It personifies a life I can’t believe I ever lived.
By making this experience of marriage into a piece of art, I have removed the cow pat, given my forgotten years substance and put any emotional residue that escaped my convenient amnesia, a structure. Although, I have to admit that it made me laugh out loud, when my brain metamorphosed something as complex and messy as a bad relationship, into a gold paper cup, some glitter, a rock and some plastic swords.
I would be married, but I’d have no wife. I would be married to a single life.
-Charles Bukowski.
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Chef 2019
"Fuck the food, I thought, this was a game and it didn’t involve chicken thighs! And, according to this geezer, if you rub garlic on the inside of an oven dish before you put the pasta bake in, well it becomes more than a potted spagbol with toasted cheese on top …it becomes MANFOOD. "

Chef 2019
Made in a small Pyrex kitchen bowl, rather like a summer fruits pudding and without glue, this work is based on an evening I spent watching a cooking programme on the telly with my friend Sue)
Sue and I were watching a cookery programme, which was a very satisfactory pastime when you had a tea towel and a spectacular home made curry sat on your lap. A famous male chef (or peacock) and a female cookery writer (or nice to look at skivvie) had taken on the task of teaching us thicko‘s (the viewers) how to make a pasta bake.
Fuck the food, I thought, this was a game and it didn’t involve chicken thighs! And, according to this geezer, if you rub garlic on the inside of an oven dish before you put the pasta bake in, well it becomes more than a potted spagbol with toasted cheese on top …it becomes MANFOOD. I don’t know many people that would have time for carrying out the sort of crap, that you wouldn’t be able to taste once it was cooked.
I was eating a spectacular piece of curried chicken, that was spectacular but not MANFOOD. Sue would have thrown me out of her house if I had decided to treat the chicken to a half hour sports massage before it was cooked. Suddenly, Sue said,‘I wonder what they are both thinking?…I mean it’s just a fucking pasta bake.’ I chuckled while deciding whether to run my finger round my plate or to use some garlic nan to finish off a particularly fork resistant potion of tadka dal. I chose the nan and answered with my mouth full saying, Well, if you want my opinion, she‘s thinking Do I look good in this skirt?. Sue laughed and her plate wobbled. Then she piped up..…’Yeah! And he’s thinking…Never mind the skirt love, when are you going to put those cherry red lips around me nob!.
‘A man can go seventy years without a piece ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement’.
-Charles Bukowski.
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Nativity Circus (2015)
I’m amazed that I had the balls to print this piece so large even though that in itself was immensely satisfying. The truth about this work is that going big felt good.

Nativity Circus (2015)
Who would think it was normal to put a pile of American sweets, a Japanese ceramic cat, a tin foil covered box and an orange habitat pebble lamp together, let alone to represent the Nativity? Well I did!…at 9:30pm, mid winter and after consuming half a bottle of burgundy.
This was the first work that I ever made and the creative vision in my head was nothing like the end result. Yes, I was a little drunk but all that an excess of alcohol did was to throw into sharp focus, my slap-dash, half-arsed approach to life. It showcases a personality that has loads of imagination but avoids doing the bits that they find boring, or time consuming (i.e. detail). Not surprisingly my pragmatic mother hates it.
I’m amazed that I had the balls to print this piece so large even though that in itself was immensely satisfying. The truth about this work is that going big felt good.
Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live.-Charles Bukowski.
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Mine (2019)
I wanted to let rip, speak my truth, but I held it all in and focused on all the drama and the consequences that would ensue if I did react. So I let it go and I took the higher road of silence. One that in my opinion is a pissy pot holed road which when taken often leaves you feeling bitter, grumpy and wanting to smash things.

Mine (2019)
I was frustrated when I made this piece. Angry about a certain persons passive aggressive behaviour towards me. The target of my anger will never ever know how much they pissed me off. I wanted to let rip, speak my truth, but I held it all in and focused on all the drama and the consequences that would ensue if I did react. So I let it go and I took the higher road of silence. One that in my opinion is a pissy pot holed road which when taken often leaves you feeling bitter, grumpy and wanting to smash things.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that in this instance their manipulative, jealous, behaviour stuck in my craw. So I sat down, got my glue and scissors out, picked up a book on communist buildings and created this piece.
All I can say is, that it brings a smile to my face when I imagine the Brutalist architectural concrete that cuts through the centre of the work, shoved up their condescending arse.
The fuckers. There, I feel better. God-damned human race. There, I feel better.
― Charles Bukowski, The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship
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Charles and the Golden Egg (2018)
Where marrying a golden egg that lived nestled amongst my pants with a black and white photo from a book about Charles Bukowski, felt like the right thing to do. However, if you need to give Charles and the golden egg a raison d’être. All I can tell you is the act of making it (as with all my artwork) doctored my soul, nothing more, nothing less.

Charles and the Golden Egg (2018)
In the 1980’s, my father bought a 24 carat gold covered chicken egg on a KLM flight and gave it as a present to his mother-in-law. It was such a random act that my mother reckons that it’s purchase was the result of a larger than average consumption of alcohol from the inflight bar.
The egg was kept on my grans sideboard, with all the other useless nicknacks that I coveted, didn’t need, but that I hoped I would eventually inherit when she died. I spent over 30 years looking at it in its perspex box, never allowed to touch it. My gaze was constantly drawn to it no matter where I stood in her living-room. The perspex box distorted it’s shape making it resemble a small golden poo rather than an egg. So what did I do when I eventually got my hands on it? I stuffed it at the back of my nicker draw with all the other items that I don’t need, yet can’t throw away.
This piece was not created with any kind of concept in mind. It was a simple act of creativity. Where marrying a golden egg that lived nestled amongst my pants with a black and white photo from a book about Charles Bukowski, felt like the right thing to do. However, if you need to give Charles and the golden egg a raison d’être. All I can tell you is the act of making it (as with all my artwork) doctored my soul, nothing more, nothing less.
I have no definite talent or trade, and how I stay alive is largely a matter of magic.
-Charles Bukowski
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Project Date
Love Bomb (2018)
This work was created during a very long conversation on speakerphone, with my friend Tracey. We were discussing the ins and outs of, How to spot the narcissist in your life?

Love Bomb (2018)
This work was created during a very long conversation on speakerphone, with my friend Tracey. We were discussing the ins and outs of, How to spot the narcissist in your life?
Tracey is one of the most intelligent women I know. She really gets life and has fought against the constraints of family, culture and social expectations in order to thrive. For Tracey, unpicking the past has meant systematically expelling all the narcissists from her life. Family or friend no one has escaped this cull. It’s purpose was to enable her to leave behind, ‘a negative culture of mental health fuckery’ that has held her back.
Love bombing is an expression that is used to describe behaviour where someone attempts to influence another person or a group of people with an excessive amount of attention and affection. It is a commonly used method of grooming by cults, gangs and pimps to gain trust and control their victims. Narcissists also use it to gain control of their interpersonal relationships with partners, family and friends and once trust is assured, this control will turn abusive and debasing in nature.
I have no memory of the mechanics of making this work, but when I ended the call I definitely remember staring at the piece before I photographed it, in a state of mild confusion with the scissors still in my hand and a lot of glue on my trackie-bot-bots.
Of course it’s possible to love a human being if you don’t know them too well.
-Charles Bukowski
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