Epi was born in Bristol.

His early works began to appear in the early 2000’s on walls around central Paris, where he was a student- stencilled quotations taken from those seminal works of the French literary repertoire he was discovering in his studies. Rather than the widespread acclaim and adulation he had hoped for, his efforts earned him near-universal condemnation and opprobrium, not to mention the ire of the Gendarmerie Nationale.

Heavily influenced by the Stencil Movement that had its roots in 1960’s Parisian political protest art, Epi later returned to Britain and adapted his artistic style, eschewing wall for canvas and appropriating and recapitulating tropes from the canon of contemporary art in his own inimitable- and oft-derided- style, developing a somewhat lacklustre and clumsy ‘technique’ that would incorporate graffiti, Surrealism, Minimalism, Pop, and mid-century poster art.

At the heart of Epi’s work lies a deeply-held disdain for the art establishment- whose ignorance, pretentiousness and capriciousness he has long found abhorrent- and an unwavering desire to poke fun at his chosen métier.

With his work variously described by critics as “a complete insult to good taste”, “execrable shite”, “the mindless daubings of a sick and deranged infant”, and even “absolute drivel” (by his own mother, at that), Epi still maintains that his primary goal is to satirize the absurdity and inanity of contemporary art, seeing himself not as an artist (a sentiment resoundingly echoed by collectors and gallerists alike) but rather a cultural commentator mining the lexicon of the visual zeitgeist to communicate some deeper truth about the abhorrence of consumer culture gone woefully awry at the hands of a venal and deranged bourgeoisie.

Epi endeavours to bring his work into the reach of a broad base of art buyers- eyeing with disdain the opaque, morally bankrupt world of blue-chip art dealing- until such a day that his work starts going for serious money, when he will tell his loyal clients to fuck off, start selling his works exclusively to a small coterie of ultra-rich philistines, and piss it up around the Med on his yacht.

Epi now lives in Bath. He hopes that one day, long after his death, he will finally get the recognition he doesn’t deserve.