When you search for “Ian Stevenson” Google suggests that you might be looking for a Canadian psychiatrist who specialised in reincarnation. I wasn’t – I was after the British artist of the same name – but I can’t help wonder what the former might have made of the latter’s work.
Ian has just opened a new show at the Paul Smith Space Gallery in Tokyo, which boasts not only 20 new works but also a range of T-shirts and hankies that feature the fashion designer’s photographs onto which Ian has added his own visual flourishes.
What I love about Ian’s work is that amid the thickets of surreal silliness, occasionally you glimpse something more thought-provoking, the whispy entrails of an idea that questions something much more profound. But then it’s gone, and any attempt to vocalise it founders on the craggy shores of sounding self-important.
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