In From Mona to Mayhem, I set out to collide two worlds that couldn’t seem further apart: the untouchable realm of high art and the bumbling charm of Last of the Summer Wine. I imagined situations that might have unfolded in the series, then wove them into famous paintings, letting Yorkshire humour stumble straight into the canon.

I like that the result makes people laugh, but I also would like the viewer to feel that small injection of excitement, nay delight that comes with breaking 'class' rules. It’s a kind of artistic and cultural sabotage, where the collision of the everyday and the exalted sparks something new: half joke, half critique, fully alive.

With Mona Lisa – Nora Batty, Compo and the Washing Line, I’ve taken my original act of cultural sabotage and turned it in on itself. By asking AI to analyse and then regenerate the  piece.

This is AI's analysis:

"This image is a humorous composite, superimposing a stern-faced man’s features onto the Mona Lisa painting.  Additional elements such as laundry hanging on a line, a cleaning brush, and an older man in the background add to the surreal and comedic nature of the image."

I’ve committed a kind of maximalist attack on my own artwork. It’s not about polishing or perfecting; it’s about piling on chaos, letting the machine misinterpret, distort, and throw the image back at me in a way I can’t fully control.​ 

This collection is about destabilising reverence. By placing sitcom-style antics inside masterpieces, I play with the idea that these works aren’t untouchable relics—they’re images, stages, ripe for parody, reinvention, and a bit of chaos. For me, it’s a maximalist act: I don’t strip away, I pile on. I layer nostalgia, cultural memory, and absurdity onto centuries of so-called “sublime” art, making the ridiculous and the revered share the same canvas.​

By dragging sitcom antics into the hallowed halls of fine art, From Mona to Mayhem breaks not just artistic boundaries but class boundaries too—reminding us that culture isn’t reserved for an elite; it belongs to everyone, and it’s ripe for reinvention.​

This experiment pushes at authorship. Who owns the joke when AI inserts its own clumsy humour? Whose hand is visible when the brushstroke is digital guesswork layered over my intent? I’m interested in that uneasy space where my vision collides with algorithmic absurdity.

The result is deliberately unruly—an artwork that refuses to settle. It laughs at itself, breaks itself, and still stands as a reminder that nothing, not even my own creations, are sacred.