First act: a patient lying on a bed hospital, immobilized between prosthesis and blankets, he is attended (better to say disregarded) by nurses with carmine lips and tight clothes, unaware of the invalid progressive hard-on (ereccion). This scene sums up the germ of Stu Mead‘s teeming imagination, who spent part of his childhood bedridden due to an illness which will hindered his adult relationship with women.
Sincere in both words and pictures, he doesn’t hides himself behind artistic justification and openly declares the masturbatory purposes of his paintings. The principal focuses of Stu Mead desire is prepubertal girls, but these childs are more desiring subjects than objects of desire.
Similar frankness denotes Luis Quiles when says that what he likes is drawing puts tits and asses. In his graphic interpretation of a depraved world also are protagonists horny adolescents, submissives and powerful at the same time.
Stu Mead is always the main character of his medical charts: not only as a voyeur (hidden behind a tree, camouflaging himself in a mirror or dressing up with bearskin), also identified with the outbreak of perverse pleasures in insatiable bodies of terrible nymphets.
Wood nymphs being observed by owls bulging eyes, being spied by goats playing flute and squirrels offering them walnuts. These animals, invited in their living room, get naked in front of the fireplace, offering their buttocks to beaked chickens or teddy bears, or rubbing their nakedness against horses back.
Equally elusive is the position of Luis, feminist and misogynist equally. But his art is less confessional and more political, angrier and less dreamy. Sealed mouths in front of a chorus of microphones, mouths forced to swallow burgers mcdonalds or wads of bills: the freedom of expression and owning one’s own body fallacies are revealed in laconic vignettes in which swallow, shut up, kneel down, is rule. Images of female submission as correlates of the most sexist porn imagery.
Swastikas, crosses and logos become interchangeable symbols in Luis Quiles iconoclastic language, with which expresses the fascist streak underlying the pop fanaticism, the youth idiotization promoted by entertainment industry to ensure the progress of necrocapitalism without critical opposition.
The image of teenagers licking smartphones in group or receiving in their salivating tongues facebook and instagram likes as if them were consecrated hosts remember us this other of Stu Mead where priests are baffled by the ardent devotion of their parishioners sucking the sacramental bread.
While Quiles attacks the hypocrisy of Disney (for example, regarding the sexy costume of Leila) and all kinds of proselytizing and idolatry (even resistance idols as what Gay Fawkes mask represents), British interiors
with fireplaces and musical instruments’ eroticism by Stu Mead are irreverent winks to Balthus. The latent sexuality of teenage painted by Bathus explodes (in Stu Mead) to extremes that seem to caricature Freudian theories on libinales stages of childhood incestuous acts, coprophagy, oedipal traumas (girls shitting and pissing on the grave of his father)… School concerts become striptease shows, zombies wake up of eternal sleep when being irrigated by dancer’s urine, and stone statues come to life in front of so much naked beauty.
Stu Mead girls are distracted fairies to which way the environment becomes transformed unintentionally, by the simple power of imagination, but their entourage are not elves but drooling dogs and devils with phallic languages. Quiles ones share the same nubile hedonism that transmutes the ground beneath their feet, able to customize everyday objects to fit them to the measure of their pleasures. But they are no longer countryside nymphets but computerized females, addicted to Selfy, and like the rest of us, puppets moved by hands whose owners are kept in the shade.