Xavier Phelp
Born to a father, a political refugee, imprisoned for his nationality, shot through the chest, saved by a stranger who subsequently bore me. As an infant, homeless, perplexed by the thud of bombs exploding. At puberty, found that I was closest to foreigners, refugees and subversives. Married someone from a different continent, who had suffered at the hands of bigots. Taunted as an enemy alien, arrested for possession of recorded music, separated by authorities from my family, crossing borders illicitly, mounted police trampling me underfoot. My relatives persecuted by the secret police simply because of their relationship to me, and dying at the hands of the regime. Is it any wonder that I discovered release in an engagement with art and pure aesthetics. Is it any wonder that I find myself creating works concerned with politics and social issues.
