This triptych plays on parallels between medieval fiefdom, and millennial and Gen-Z disenfranchisement with the property market. 


(One 93 x 56cm oil on board, and six 40 x 20cm oil on board)

For this piece, I drew inspiration directly from life, marking a departure from the high fantasy, high fidelity aspirations of the paintings I had done before.
Towards the end of the last module at uni, I had been locked out of my studio flat for the fourth time in two months. This was due to a dead battery in the card reader on my door. 
Listlessly sofa-surfing between friends houses, we found fellow feeling in our distrust towards our letting agencies. I joked about doing a painting of my landlord as a medieval landowner, and depicting us the tenants as exploited serfs revolting in the background. 
This idea ended up materialising as the centrepiece of the triptych. 
Landlord Portrait
Oil on board, 90 x 55 cm
This piece is a satirical twist on Medieval devotional portraiture.
 In the foreground stands my triumphant landlord, holding an estate agent board. A gesture of ownership over his kingdom. In the mid-ground to his right is his castle, the estate agents office.
 It is a superficially flattering portrait, until your eyes stray over to the background, where you see a procession of protesting serfs, no longer satisfied with their sub-par lodging. 
They have taken to the streets with torches from home, lit on the agricultural pyre to the left where they work, and pitchforks taken from the tools rack just below it [1]. 
Guests from the votive paintings, such as rats and silverfish make a re-appearance. Silverfish become battle-horses for the serfs, their exoskeleton serving as armour. [2] 
One rat runs inside the water mill like a hamster wheel, while another taunts it with a piece of cheese woven between its tail. [3]
 In the top right hand of the painting, one arsonist serf reaches up to grab a shooting star from the sky to use as a detonation device. [4] The figure handing it to him is Saint Barbara, patron saint of explosions. 
The topography of the landscape and themes mirror those presented in the accompanying votives, making the triptych as a whole paint a picture of one cogent, imaginary town. 
[1]
[1]
[2]
[2]
[3]
[3]
[4]
[4]
Bad Wifi
Oil on wood, 40 x 20 cm
‘Beatrix’s gallant attempt to court a noblewoman was mercilessly shot down by an unforeseen foe’
This painting  takes to task the bad WiFI in my flat.
It depicts a parody of courtly love rituals, showing a failed attempt to send a sext due to poor WiFi connection.
I am depicted on the right outstretching my hand to help give flight to a carrier pigeon, who I have enlisted along with cupid as my wingmen of sorts, to reach my love interest on the left.
The carrier pigeon has a wax-sealed envelope tied to it, branded with the infamous e-refrain ‘send nudes’.
However it is being sabotaged by the Dark Knight of Bad WiFi who grabs the arrows out of cupid’s perilously open sash and is poised to shoot the pigeon.
Unresponsive Emergency Service
Oil on wood, 40 x 20 cm​​​​​​​
“Hearken to the call of my bugle!” the maiden Beatrix cryeth out for helpe, but helpe cometh there none.’

This piece revisits a time I was locked out of my house because I left my key-card inside. I had food in the oven which posed a serious fire hazard, so I called the emergency service several times in the space of 2 hours but they never picked up.
In the piece, I am stranded outside of my house, with my key-card inside, glowing like a coveted object, and my fireplace ablaze and out of control. I am doing an emergency bugle call (notice the emergency flags) and sending out a carrier pigeon to alert the samara lettings lieges.
A semi-open plan balcony in the castle reveals a bunch of crickets playing a symphony - a metaphor for silence.
Cold shower
Oil on wood, 40 x 20 cm​​​​​​​
‘My lieges in hot tub take their ease, whilst I, poor serf, must surely freeze.’
During lockdown, my electric shower broke, meaning that I have had to have cold showers for the whole quarantine. My letting agents refuse to fix it because it is classed as an inessential repair, so it can apparently wait until after lockdown to be fixed.
I am depicted on the right making do in a wooden barrel in a frosty looking vault. A cold gust of air blows through the ventilation slats, spurred on by the fan in the chilled delicatessen below.
Meanwhile on the left of the composition, some aristocrats luxuriously unwind in a steamy bathhouse, with a servant bringing them tidbits. The place is kept warm due to an influx of warm air coming from the bakery below.
Spider infestation​​​​​​​
Oil on wood, 40
‘Lady Webb speaks with prospective tenant Iman about her plans for renovation: what will she think of the new improvements?’
This piece lampoons the poor maintenance of my letting company, playing with the idea that nature has more sovereignty over the property than do the actual landlords.
On the left, a fictional spider landlord, Lady Webb, gives a daytime tour of an empty property on the market (see the ‘to let’ sign outside). There is some talk of renovation from Lady Webb but she leaves it vague as to what this might entail.
On the right, time has passed and that same visitor is now a tenant (see the sign now says ‘sold’). She walks into her property, unbeknownst that in her absence it has been decorated by her spider overlords. One spider hangs from the ceiling, another operates a spinning wheel while another weaves a gothic tracery pattern in the window with its web.
Rat infestation
Oil on wood, 40 x 20 cm​​​​​​​
‘Dasha’s blood ran cold upon seeing the state of her kitchen. She put out a rat trap to the the little pests but alas…’
Dasha comes home to see her kitchen overtaken by rats that she thought she had taken care of by leaving out a rat trap. However these cunning vermin have dislodged the cheese and turned the trap upside down, and are using it as a cheese platter. They also have ransacked her wine collection.
Flood
Oil on wood, 40 x 20 cm​​​​​​​
‘It is a verie truth that where cracks may appeareth nigh a valley, a fludd surely cometh…'
This piece reimagines a flooding incident that happened to one tenant because her washing machine was broken.
Dasha and the vermin that have plagued her find themselves knee high in water (exaggerated for effect) due to a crack in the wall allowing water to flow in from the river outside. This is a communal laundry river where the serfs go to wash their clothes.