Growing up on the colder side of Melbourne, Eleven is an egotistic, modest mouse. After being vigorously peer pressured into graffiti in high school, Eleven left no page of his books unharmed by an onslaught of tags and cartoon imaginings. Drawing most of his inspiration from violent amounts of caffeine, nocturnal mind journeys, deadly amounts of sugar, countless hours spent watching cartoons, a microscopic attention span, an open love for all cuisines of music and funny cat videos, he gives birth to colourfully monochromatic, extraordinarily banal and fantastically mundane creatures from the deepest darkest depths of his pond-like mind. Constantly building up and deconstructing, Eleven is working to develop his work and launch it to new plateaus. Though being nervously confidant with aerosols, ink and graphite, he is no stranger to experimenting with other mediums and technological innovations. He is an imperfect perfectionist with meticulously, lazy eyes for detail. Dabbling in as many creative fields as he can, Eleven sees himself as an inelegant literary gymnast, with the count of zero books read in his entire life. Some whisper him to be somewhat of an artist, others challenge the notion that he is a mere blindfolded child with crayons, the majority find him deranged and some even say he is the human embodiment of an oxymoron. I just think he is plain old moron. That’s just my opinion though.
-Written by Eleven’s dear friend, his reflection in the mirror.







Just_Another_Chip_In The_Bones

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