Please Don’t Speak to Me While I’m Dancing

2022

Acrylic, Oil, Spray Paint, Krink Pen on canvas 

60 x 54.5 

$14,500

I borrowed the posture from a Vogue shoot of Jim Carrey, but twisted it into something darker, more personal, more sacred. The figure here isn’t just dancing-he’s teetering at the edge of collapse. A skeleton in a suit, skull crowned with a burning halo, body bent backwards like his last gasp is also his first breath.

The iron clutched in his hand isn’t just an iron—it’s a weapon and a wand. He’s electrocuting his own chest, right through the X on his heart, reigniting a life that’s almost gone. Smoke curls off the top of his head like a holy whisper, like he’s just been shocked back into purpose.

And then there’s the Dom Pérignon bottle-absurd and poetic, luxury turned life support. It holds five roses: ambition, hope, art, faith, and one… already wilting. Dead petals fall to the floor like past failures, reminders that the climb has been brutal. That success isn’t always champagne and silk-it’s champagne holding up what’s barely breathing.

The cord snakes from the iron into the bottle. That’s the twist: he’s powering himself not just from pain, but from everything he’s ever wanted. Money. Success. Legacy. Comfort.

That’s what’s keeping him going. That’s what’s got the current.

And the footprint-raw, unintentional, permanent. I stepped on my own resurrection. Maybe that’s the point: every masterpiece worth making involves walking through the wreckage of yourself.

This painting says:

“I’ve been dead before. But I chose to dance anyway. Don’t interrupt.”