Stanley Donwood El Chupacabra opening

Thanks to all that made the opening show. Here's a short explanation of the exhibit along with some photos from the opening. If you missed the preview our you can catch us:
Tues/Wed 11 - 6pm
Thursday 11 - 7pm
Fri-Sat 11 - 6pm
Sunday 12 - 4.00pm
Monday CLOSED

Stanley Donwood: El Chupacabra

pandemonium
So, right, after suffering a long fixation with the horned gods and having to live amongst some
of the most mendacious financial shit I can remember I started making pictures of these things
I called Pandemons.



goats
I’ve got nothing against goats.  I’ve simply discovered that if I draw a goat, give it the mouth of a
rapacious carnivore then dress it in the suit and tie of a disgraced banker or politician it looks
fucking evil.

And if I paste it onto a sheet of plywood and pour plenty of paint over them I feel marginally
better.



fucking bastards
A Pandemon is a feral carnivorous parasite, feasting ingloriously on the foully smouldering
remains of late-period Western consumer capitalism.  Wearing the suit and tie of ‘Sir’ Fred
Goodwin/Andy Hornby/whichever white-collar criminal/politician is currently riling me.  Is that a
political message?  I’ve started drawing these things and I don’t know why.  I can’t stop.  Everyone
is revolted by naked, slavering greed, and these fucking bastards are the embodiment of that.



plywood
That fucker ‘Sir’ Fred Goodwin was out of the country when his house and his Range Rover got
trashed.  So naturally the cops went after the ‘vandals’. 
The politicians rip us off for thousands whilst telling us to shop anyone who finds a way to
supplement their miniscule giro.
People get their houses repossessed (or foreclosed, as they say in the US) and someone comes

along and boards their windows up with plywood.
Bankers and politicians wear suits and ties so they don’t look like criminals.

free market economics
There are thirteen Pandemons in the show called ‘el chupacabra’.  Thirteen ghosts at the funeral. Thirteen spectres at the feast of the goat.  Loitering on the blackened cliffs of free-market economics, cackling as they raise a glass to toast Milton Friedman, Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher and Augusto Pinochet. Gallons of paint I’ve poured over them to drown their snickering.  But still they laugh.

Photos by Tim Jones, Lokey & Cheba