Charlie Osborne’s city is haunted – the verbs of human existence have been blurred and pulled away from the spectator. Vivid interactions are obscured by a mental fog which demands constant action and decision. In Osborne's rendition of the capital the recognition of life’s beautiful absurdity is only possible via a childish whim – this of course is brutally halted by a system that scorns introspection and meditation. Although this may have existential overtures, Osborne’s work doesn’t acquiesce to fatalism – instead a mode of resistance is offered by the overlooked act of observing.
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