Saint George, later in life, meets another dragon and things don’t go as well as they did last time.
George has had a good life but when he gets older and a bit wiser he begins to question things he would have taken for granted previously.
Where is my beautiful lance? What is my beautiful lance? Why is that dragon looking at me that way?
The lance, a symbol of sexual and spiritual virility is broken, it’s more of a snapped blind-persons cane. It’s a symbol of beliefs, of a faith that’s broken.
These Lance paintings are about my father, poor bugger, he wasted a large part of his life fooling around with a seriously fucked-up religion, only to find later in life that he didn’t have the resources to get past what he saw as a loss of faith.
I said “What does it matter? So there’s no God, move on to something else, open a bookshop or something”.
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