“BEAUTIFUL RAGE FOR BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE”: Florence’s latest Enfant Terrible, Bateman Miller’s New Collection of Rebellion & Repulsion
“GUNS, GREED, AND GOLDEN BALLROOMS – AUTUMN/WINTER 26/27”: this is the world according to Bateman. Put like that, it sounds simple, but not if you know the man behind it-whom we already featured in a previous article.
The former English investment banker, toilet cleaner, screenwriter, and film producer, as he describes himself, has reinvented himself as a designer in Florence, his new home, after London, New York, Hong Kong and Hollywood. True to form, he remains politically engaged, unconventional, and dedicated to his unique brand of wearable art!
Bateman sets to work “inking” vintage military garments in his own distinct way. He works without brushes, using only vintage designer pieces and vintage military canvases, along with industrial materials sourced from hardware stores-and never, he emphasizes, never from art supply stores!
Without any formal academic training as an artist, he draws influence from his icons. His sources of inspiration are wide-ranging, spanning from Federico Fellini to Radiohead, from J.D. Salinger to Jackson Pollock, and the genius of Jean-Michel Basquiat.
In his collection, he has managed to source a diverse array of military uniforms, ranging from WWII U.S. Army kit to garments from the Stasi, the notorious secret police of former East Germany. And then comes the centerpiece: the political statements that complete each reimagined piece.
The World According To Bateman
I Deserve Nothing. I have already been given Everything. I’m a Man. I am lucky. I’m White. I am lucky. I have Eyes. I am lucky. I can Breathe. I am lucky. I am not better than you. I’m not better than anyone. The only problem I have in the morning… other than my screaming brain… is deciding whether I should order the Chocolate or the Pistachio flavored Croissant.
No-One bombed my house last night.
No-One is planning on bombing it today.
Or so I’m told.
I am not scheduled to go to a cemetery to visit my dead child or dead children… or bury another one of them… in a BLOOD-STAINED sheet, ‘cos the casket-business in Gaza… or Beirut… or Iran ain’t what it was these days. A Mark Zuckerberg designed AI Robot will no doubt soon take care of that… in association with Amazon… Priority Delivery included in your Prime Membership… 20% off if you order more than 3.
I have ice-cold fizzy-water pumped from the Hills of Tuscany at the end of my street.
FREE… FREE ice-cold fizzy-water.
I don’t care how much money you have, or don’t have or what car you drive. I don’t care what genitals you have… or don’t have. Or what color. I especially don’t care whose genitals you care to eat for lunch or dinner or breakfast… or not eat for lunch or dinner or breakfast for that matter. I don’t care if you believe in God.
Actually I do.
….I do care. I really care.
I’d prefer you didn’t believe in God I at all… but if you do like reading the books that “YOUR GOD”… the only TRUE GOD dictated, apparently because his typewriter wasn’t working that day-all I ask is that you try paying slightly more attention to the parts about feeding the homeless… and the poor… and the sick and not the bits where you can hit children, take slaves, or throw those who like members of the same sex off of buildings and still get rewarded with a pile of virgins and/or harp lessons in the next life which apparently is better than this one, though I’ve not seen the brochures of the available accommodation.
I’ve put in an advance order for myself for a 3 Bedroom/ Two bathroom-air-conditioner…
Ocean Views.
Dishwasher.
Jacuzzi.
Remember… NO-ONE is chosen by GOD. White Children are not worth more than Black Children.
…Or Brown children. Or Yellow children. Or Eskimo children for that matter.
They all like furry toys and Mickey Mouse t-shirts and the tears of their parents when they hear of their school being blown up by a missile that “somehow” just went off course-’cos that’s what happens with 20 million dollar bombs these days, right-those tears… the brown ones, or black ones, or eskimo ones… they are just as salty as the tears of those parents with a cross around their neck and an apartment on 5th Avenue.
We all just get… one… more… breath.
There is no after-life. There is not a better Planet than this one that we should visit and invade and fuck-up just as bad as this one. And if there is a heaven you can guarantee there will be someone standing at a podium on a Sunday Morning promising a better life in the Next Heaven.
Better Clouds.
Better Harp music.
Better Virgins.
….NEW & IMPROVED HEAVEN. 8 out of ten Doctors recommend this heaven. Please “Ask your Doctor if Heaven is Right For You”.
I design these-I paint these because HISTORY is-or has been ‘til this point “Written by the Victors”, as they say… so I’m writing for the little guy… and the little girl… the ones who get trampled on-the ones who can’t write… or hire expensive lawyers… or afford medical care… or education… or food.
Or water. Fizzy or Otherwise.
That’s what you’re buying… that’s what you’re wearing … that’s what I’m wearing
RAGE… RESISTANCE… BEAUTIFUL RAGE… dreaming of a world where Greedy Rich Old White Men will all be dead soon.
Oops!… Sorry, I got that wrong. Let me correct that.
Dreaming of a world where GREEDY… RICH… OLD… WHITE… IMPOTENT MEN, who’s BODY PARTS NO LONGER WORK will all be dead soon…
…CHOCOLATE.
I think I’ll go with the chocolate today.
…I’ll try the pistachio tomorrow.
Or maybe the cream flavored one for a change… ummhh… that sounds nice.
…Quality Problems.
QUALITY PROBLEMS INCORPORATED.
Hope you like the clothes. Hope they make you look even more fukkin’ phenomenal.
Hug those you love…
…And tell them how much you love them.
Bateman.
