It's a clear case of possession.

Astronauts, toy robots, chimps, deep sea divers, perverse ballerinas, gas-masked children: they are The Committee that controls the hapless Host.

Away he works, unawares, scribbling and scratching, absorbed in the perfect illusion that his "creations" are his own. In fact, The Committee sees through his eyes, hears through his ears, and pilots the vessel that is his body and hands.

Once his creations, they are now the creators.

Grudgingly, The Committee maintains the veneer. They steer the Host to accomplishments and accolades, feeding the illusion. They need the Host. Without him there is no vessel; without a vessel, there is no journey. No expression of their brilliance, no furthering of their plans.

Oh, the treachery. But ah, the beauty! The form given their fancy is truly a gift to the world, is it not? Surely, some recompense, a justification?

Host credentials:

• BFA
• 20+ solo and group exhibitions on 3 continents
• Artwork published in two anthologies (by invitation)
• Speaking engagements at universities and cultural associations