Lander’s work frequently takes the form of stream-of-consciousness diatribes, scrawled in rambling, hand-written texts that are provocatively self-indulgent and littered with misspelled words. Emptied of aesthetic content, these large canvases, pinned to the wall, need to be read rather than viewed and, as such, employ one of the strategies of Conceptual Art—Landers makes the viewer labour in order to gain access to his ideas. He variously presents us with dislocated memories of his own childhood, muses on his ambitions, exposes his artistic insecurities, critiques the art world, and reflects on his sex life. Flitting from one topic to another, the tone varies from the banal to the ponderous: at times Landers is self-aggrandising, at others, self-deprecating.

There are occasional moments of emotional clarity, for example, when the artist broaches the subject of his relationship with his girlfriend. As if second-guessing the viewer’s reaction, however, Landers interjects with nihilistic one-liners such as: ‘Honesty is a farce, from now on I’m going to lie my arse off.’ At the heart of this work is the implication that, in amongst the scattergun statements, there may be something more profound to counteract the ironic angst.