Black Licorice Blues: new art installations by Amos Oaks

I’ve experienced a subculture of proletariat that, from the viewpoint of the air conditioned white-collar or the intellectual locked in his office with a stack of Marxist literature, is nothing more than a stoic backbone. Sunburned roofers, dust-coated concrete finishers, swollen knuckled carpenters – drunk, high, toothless, bruised and broken – are dreamers, too. My recent opening was a semi-autobiographical look at that life.