ELK - Frank

This original artwork by ELK (Luke Cornish) titled 'Frank' is Aerosol and acrylic on Board with a resin finish, from his 2025 show 'Terminal Lucidity'. (Edition of 5).
Size: 320mm (W) x 420mm (H)
E.L.K, also known as Luke Cornish, is an Australian artist who creates powerful images using handmade stencils. Rising rapidly in the contemporary art scene, he became the first to be nominated for the Archibald Prize with a stencil portrait. Using up to 85 layers of carefully hand-cut acetate, he sprays layer upon layer of aerosol paint until his images bear a striking photographic resemblance: this is a new form of hyper-realism that is unlike what has been seen before. He uses the tools of a street artist to create decadent, detailed works that envelop the viewer. His subjects all seem to share the same hardship and determination that Cornish himself has experienced, lending to a sense of dire reality in the unreality of his images.

About the show - Terminal Lucidity:

The title Terminal Lucidity refers to the unexpected, temporary return of mental clarity that sometimes occurs shortly before death, often in people with severe neurological or psychiatric conditions. While it might benefit my art career to have collectors under the impression that I’m on my way out, I can safely say I am not — at least not today.

Twelve months ago, a very generous construction company gave me access to an equally generous warehouse space in the heart of Sydney to use as a studio for a year. As I approach the end of my time here, the surge of energy, motivation, and focus I’ve felt can only be described as a kind of terminal lucidity. Having the space to develop an entire body of work at once — and the time to let each piece breathe, to celebrate the breakthroughs and bin the failures — in relative isolation, has completely reshaped the evolution of my stencil technique.

This work emerged during a period when the political and social climate feels volatile and uncertain. The news cycle is relentless: cut aways of a genocide, natural disasters, and a collective mood that swings between outrage and numbness. Painting, for me, is a way to process that heaviness — not always through direct commentary, but often through metaphor. The astronaut dogs became avatars for a kind of emotional survival: an absurd yet sincere fantasy of escape. They carry traces of innocence, loyalty, and confusion — a quiet echo of what it feels like to stay hopeful while drifting through instability.

I’d love to pretend that there’s a long, intellectual rationale behind these paintings, but there isn’t. I just want to make people smile — to offer a brief escape from the noise. So, if you’re not a dog person, maybe don’t come to this show… actually, if you’re not a dog person, don’t come to any of my shows.