Art on primal pleasure

I fucking love art. I did a study a little while ago on the senses, and how different senses provoke different memory receptors, unsurprisingly smell is the only sense that lingers in your olfactory system for long enough to actually create new neural pathways, hence why sometimes when you get a whiff of engine oil you're reminded of an old boyfriend, or the smell from a bakery can almost bring you to tears because you remember it so fondly from your childhood walks with your mother.

However, what happens when a piece of art jumps out at you so vividly that it excites every single neuron in your brain, you an feel the warmth from the window the artist painted, or you can actually feel the rage belting through the screen from a particular piece, that's great art, and that's why it was created, to move us.

In this uncertain time it's dawned on me that the one thing people turn to is art. Whether that's a favourite singer or re-runs of an old favourite show, or simply the piece hanging on the wall that's survived countless moves because you can't bear to part with it. Some artists bore into your soul and can search out every last piece of joy when you don't think you have any left. My favourite artist is Tishk Barzanji.

A Kurdish artist now based in London, his work takes me to a surreal place of decadent pleasure that I can't quite explain. I've stared at his pieces somewhat perversely for hours upon hours, wanting to be in them, to be immersed in their colour and peace. The saying goes that the picture on your phone lockscreen is what's most important to you and for me it's a particular piece of his. The woman is alone in the room, totally vulnerable and at one with herself, I want to be her, with a caged tiny man on the small table next to her, primal and warm with her own body, listening to her favourite song.

(Piece: Lady Blue Chateau)

It soothes and excites me every time I look at it, the sheer power and raw sexuality of the figure lounging on the bed, as if no one could intrude on her perfect moment, even if they were standing right there. People say that art is subjective and it is, but I’d bare my teeth and defend this piece wildy if anyone said they were not moved by it. Surrealism sometimes makes sense of the real things in our lives, and perhaps why this piece fills me with hope and quiet in my own mind.

Surrealism and myself have a long history together. As a kid I had a Dali print hung proudly on my wall with blue tack. I have always been super sensitive to art of any kind, so much so that I actually find indifference kind of any kind more insulting than hatred. This wonderful little video made the rounds quite a few years ago.

I'm not sure what it was meant to be when it was released, people find it anything from disturbing to funny, while I find it perhaps the sweetest accidental viral video i've ever seen. I watch it when I’m low, or I need a little pick me up. Sometimes words of encouragement in any form are all you need to get back on track. I can't explain why I find it so lovely, perhaps it's his little plasticine butt, or his calming tone, but if you haven't seen it, I encourage you to now, I promise if nothing else it'll make you feel some shade of peculiar.

I think the key to joy in any media form is the element of escapism all the while something about it feeling like it's linked to you personally. Art doesn't have to be brutal to make an impact, and provocative feelings of overwhelming comfort are just as powerful as anger or sadness if we are talking about motivation.

It's the stuff like this little video where you can physically feel your heart lifting a little bit. It inspires you in some way, even if it is just to laugh at the strangeness of it all. For me the little plasticine man showing me the tree he made I could make into anyone I needed to hear from but couldn't speak to, even if it was myself. I think that's why I find this so uplifting. It's telling me, “carry on, you've got this”.

Comic book art is perhaps my favourite night time reading activity, as I was lucky enough to stumble onto this little gem one night after a particularly tiring day, and ended up neck deep in Nathan Pyle’s world, laughing myself eventually to sleep. His curious little alien creatures go about their day trying to make sense of the world in the most endearing way. His comic strips relate to the human race perhaps better than anything else does, making sense of emotions, the traditions we hold and the games we play with each other. They are highly addictive, and I've successfully drug pushed these onto several of my friends.

It seems to be that whenever I open my instagram his comics show up at precisely the right time, a cheerful break in the sometimes overwhelming, “I'm better than you look at how well I’m doing”, posts that swamp our social media sites. It's potent in its simplicity, and it's no surprise that he’s become a sensation, he sometimes steals his partners expressions to pop on to his alien pals as well which I think is adorable.

I frequently read the comments on his posts which as a rule is something I never do, and it seems that his fans have something in common, the type of art he does makes us feel seen however briefly. He’s also hugely communicative with his fanbase, teaching them the odd technique to brighten up their day, my favourite section of his page being “ NYC pigeons”, a narration of the comings and goings of a pigeons day to day life, which I absolutely never miss on a saturday morning, (might I add it is the perfect hangover cure rather than scrolling through pages and pages of Instagram and Facebook).

Art can mean something to a person however it's delivered. For some people it's a can of tomato soup, for me it's two little aliens and their friends, a plasticine guy showing me his butt and a cool tree, and a woman masturbating quietly to her favourite tune. What moves you?