Hiccups in a visual vernacular that does not stray too far from the written word—indeed, the spoken word—where the atmosphere for misunderstanding, misdirection, misanthropy are probable, if not ample. I guess. The works in Fat, Bastard are tireless in their relation to language, drawing on complementary concerns of utterances, stutters, and withdrawals. Patterns move, get interrupted, are displayed with questionable neighbors. These works service the desire suggestive to review the past, nay, the present, ambivalent as they may be. Thanks!