Broken English

Language is what separates us from the other species. It permits us to communicate with one another. Sort of. It’s adaptive and alive; new words enter the lexicon every year. 

What happens when we lose language? Have a stroke? Aphasia? Dementia? When we can no longer summon up the words to express ourselves or our needs?

Text and stencil often appear in my paintings but, in this case, I was thinking about the loss of language. The confusion. I was imagining the slow decline of vocabulary and the erosion of memory. Like being buried alive. Being extinguished little by little.