On Valentine's Day, Feb 14 2009, I blog'd about Suzzan Blac's porno-doll-like Resistance Gallery (London) exhibition. With the slightly tipsy help of my mate Mitch Phillips, I ended up accosting her with my annoying wasp of a video camera and many of you may have gotten the wrong idea about what really turns me on about her art.
It's not the franchisement of plastic love holes (or even the underside of a doll's tongue) that spasms my robust constitution, it's Suzzan's attention to the anatomy of pain ... each of her more extreme gore-spattered paintings exudes a personal hurt that is impossible to fake via commercial sentimentality.
You look at these raw artworks of ultimate female torture and you KNOW that this artist has been there and back again. She's a survivor, a real artist.
This is the real Suzzan Blac, unrestricted by the suffocating euro, liberated from the choking dollar, reviled by the grimy yen and not a sleazy yuan in sight.
You won't see work like this from any art group or conceptual movement - it's properly unique, it's utterly horrifying, it's very special.