April update

Greetings! In the next few months I’m covering all bases with new gouache, oil and 3D work.

New work, Candice Tripp art

I’ve finally added a new canvas to the site (above); George can’t go home until he finds his brain, oil and ink on canvas, 36″ x 36″

Skelve figure


Across the pond Stranger Factory will be celebrating their 3rd anniversary with Conjuring Mischief; a group show dedicated to their mascot, the Skelve. I’m having a crack at the classic 9″ figure. The end result will be exhibited in great company on May 2nd.

Stranger Factory
109 Carlisle Blvd NE
Albuquerque, NM 87106


Secret 7″ is rubbing music and art together again and this year all proceeds will go to War Child. My cover will be among the 700 that go on display on April 12th & 13th and again on Record Store Day (April 19th) where they will be sold for £45 each.

Downstairs At Mother
10 Redchurch St
London, E2 7DD

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NE Love magazine

NE Love Magazine cover by Candice Tripp

I get a serious case of The Tingles when people strike and do the things they love.

I feel like a huge coward for not going out for the things I want or for sitting around talking about the things I’d like to make and release without every actually doing it because, because, because what if nobody likes it/ what if it’s a waste of gigglingly small-time self employed investment/ what if I book another show and have to shit-can it halfway through? – see every time I ever said “I want to make t-shirts/wallpaper/silk scarves/eco-friendly ethical non-silk scarves”.

A few years ago I made a friend while I worked in the frenzied world of retail photography. We both left eventually. I went off to make art while my friend, Sam Brown, left to head up and manage a new studio.

While I get off on drawing and thoughts of restricted food-stuffs, Sam gets off on Good Photography.

His friends get off on Good Writing, Good Content, Good Design and Guinness. Together,  they retracted the great finger-in-arse productivity blockage that plagues most of us and launched NE Love Magazine.

For their third issue NE Love sent Sam around to my studio so we could reminisce while he took photos of my head – which, although sounds strange was on-topic since they allowed me to do some cover art for them.

Thank you to everyone at NE Love for letting me do this to their beloved brand. I owe each of you  a beer.

Here’s the original work:

 George can't go home until he finds his brain by  Candice Tripp

“George can’t go home until he finds his brain”
gouache on illustration board,
14″ x 10″
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Work going up for sale this week

I’ll be adding new work to my big cartel shop over the next few days. I’ve added new work to the shop.

Whenever I have a vague image that I can only barely picture or an idea that I feel like poking at, I’ll work it out in gouache.

I’ve got a drawer full of odds that I’m ready to send packing. If you’re interested in something that you’ve seen either here or on my instagram feed that doesn’t seem to have gone up for sale, just drop me a line.

Sizes vary, which is making my pricing-brain squeeze. I heard that people in New Zealand buy tomatoes from the side of the road and put payment into an unmanned Honesty Box- which, whether true to not, sounds like a brilliant way to part with art. One day I’ll find some balls and do that.

I guess they buried them and left, Candice Tripp

‘I guess they buried them and left’

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I’ve never fully completed a painted first draft with any degree of neatness before.

It’s reassuring.

George, Candice Tripp work in progress

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I suggested that I cook. You know. Make an effort. Something nice. Something with flavour, as opposed to the from-a-bag feathered veg that usually gets upended into a wok with some waterlogged chicken and a sachet of personality that is less ‘herbs and spices’ and more ‘sugar. refined. liquid’

Something other than what we resort to night after night of together-but-apart eating.

I’ve had a stomach niggle for coming up to ten years. For the first seven I kept thinking it was me, something I ate, in the wrong order, quantities or state of being. It wasn’t an allergy because I’d be dead (and on some days I shudder to say that I’d snort “I WISH” in as much a Kevin The Teenager fashion as is possible)

As I got sicker and more defeated I ended up doing the thing desperate people do; which is to say I went on the internet and found a company that would send me a little pack containing a shallow needle-like blood-drawing device and a return envelope detailing the carriage of genetic material so that I could swap money for answers.

It all added up to an intolerance list that most doctors and all of AA Gill sniff at. The laundry list of things I can but can’t and shouldn’t eat because while they won’t kill me will make me want to kill others includes yeast, gluten, egg, dairy, capsicum and bizarrely and quite specifically, black currants.

“Hmm” the nutritionist said “have you had a candida test?”

No. Just one bogus non-medically recognised and flagrantly financially extravagant test at a time, thanks.

“Well, it looks like you have it. What you need to avoid is sugar in all of its forms. And mushrooms. And anything that can grow mould”

Like what?

“Well, everything, really. Just. Don’t eat anything too ripe, but I suppose you won’t because you mustn’t eat fruit”

I was stymied, but now I’m not because it’s been three years of getting on with it and I’ve felt remarkably human. In a way that I didn’t before. Anyway, it’s been a long game and one that never really ends and so Ideal Brown and I eat together, but very rarely the same thing.

I have a friend who doesn’t believe in ghosts but does believe her boyfriend’s flat was haunted because of all the scratches they’d awake to find on their hands and arms in the morning.

Food intolerance is kind of like that. Whether you believe in it or not, it’s there and it’s uncomfortable.

I annoy a lot of people because I can’t eat food and I get annoyed with a lot of people who feel they have to suffer the inconvenience of something that isn’t even happening to them for the approximate length of one meal-time.

On that note- just quickly- fuck you.

We’re not making it up. We of the challenged gut don’t enjoy the reluctant attention our fickle insides receive. We’re gastro hypochondriacs out of necessity, not leisure. It’s really embarrassing to say “cheese hurts” and then to have to explain that “bread hurts too”. Also; it’s terrifying to learn how few people know what their food actually contains. Cue 1980′s tales of vegetarian woe upon rejecting pork on the grounds that it’s dead and being offered chicken nuggets instead.

“You can’t eat bread? How about pasta?”

The planks. They’re making a case for cannibalism. Sure, we might get the shakes but hopefully it would lower the Stupid in our gene pool and solve the meat-guilt problem. Because I suffer with that too.

Most meals are involve a quiet mental war between concentrating on exactly what I’m eating, the horror of it being in my mouth and how wonderful it is at the same time. Sometimes I eat really fast. Once the pig has passed my tongue everything is okay, but until that point I feel like a monster. It’s senseless and easy to scorn, but so is eating pork but ruling out mutton because once I saw lambs playing like puppies.

These days I get by on a lot of soy yogurt and almonds. Lots of almonds.

I solved one gut problem and created a new one; trying to digest the food equivalent of hard wood flooring.

So, it’s Friday. It’s Valentine’s Day. There’s a big storm barging in. I suggested I’d cook. I went to the shops. I thought about this the whole time:

And I left with a litre of soy yogurt.

Happy Valentines day.


Actually, it’s worth saying that the York Test although costly, was worthwhile. To anyone who has been wondering, for ages if they should part with such a lump of cash for what your doctor will almost certainly wave-away while telling you that IBS is common and that you should learn to deal with it – I’m so glad I got it. I’d almost say it changed my life if I didn’t worry that all the new-mummies would beat my shallow arse to death and run me down with an infant-laden buggy.

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I’m Never Shopping Here Again video

A collaborative show by Giles Walker and Candice Tripp set in subterranean London featuring sculpture, paintings and a kinetic installation. Presented by Black Rat Projects, November 2013

Filmed and edited by Miles Williams
Music by Laura McGarrigle

I'm Never Shopping Here Again Candice Tripppaintings from I'm Never Shopping Here Again, Candice Tripp, soloCandice Tripp installation dolls figures

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Have you seen the trailer for The babadook?

I watched it last night along with a load of other trailers, all of which looked a bit limp – which was good in its own miserable way because it made me all the more excited for The Babadook because it made me realise that I could still discern the difference between a movie that will send my eyes rolling and one that I stand a chance of enjoying. I mean, sometimes I’m so hard up for a new horror that I’ll get excited about  the most appalling shit.

Anyway. I thought about it all day and then painted this;

‘Hey, Dickface. I told you: the bridge is mine, go back to the woods’ – Monster territory disputes.

candice tripp work for sale

gouache on illustration board, 25.4cm x 30.5cm

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Moving along

Butch Anthony posted a photo of a horse with an empty eye socket. Suffice it to say, I couldn’t stop thinking about it;

candice tripp horse painting for sale

gouache on illustration board, 25.4cm x 30.5cm

And here’s photo of some paint drying. I’ve had to move it to the hallway until the job is done, because I can’t stand to look at it and do nothing.
candice tripp work in progress


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More Monkeys

monkeys, candice tripp painting for sale

more monkeys close up candice tripp work for sale

gouache on illustration board, 25.4cm x 30.5cm

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While I’m working on commissioned work that I can’t share right away, there’s this;

House on a hill, gouache, Candice Tripp

gouache on illustration board, 25.4cm x 30.5cm

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