On Nick Gazin

I’m a fan of Nicholas Gazin, though I honestly can’t say why. Maybe his sense of style—he’s 25, making art in New York’s underground, so he pretty much has to dress well. Or maybe because he mentioned in some VICE feature that he pulls naked pictures of ex-girlfriends off the internet and turns them into drawings. That tracks.

His work is basically the visual equivalent of intrusive thoughts. Crucified eyes. Mutilated bodies. Exhausted skeletons. Brain-eating demons. Possessed ice cream. Murderous plums. Goddesses licking fried eggs with their feet. Rockets plowing into enormous hairy vaginas. Dead Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. All rendered in this meticulous style, like he’s just transcribing whatever fever-dream bullshit is floating around in his head.

And it’s working. Female admirers across the world. Real exhibitions. Actual gallery shows. So yeah, I’m starting to get it. Maybe it’s the Facebook profile picture. He’s genuinely got one of the best profile pictures ever taken. That must be it. Case closed.