This abstract painting, square in shape, comprises fields of beige, taupe, and greige. A vehement disturbance of bright oranges portends about the upper-middle-right area with another lot of greige squarely atop. There are waving streaks of black, blues, and lime that flow from the uppermost edge down to nearly mid-center of the piece. Each tawny terrain is textured; some cracked and scratched, some rippled and swirled, some peppered. Three specific white-grey ink spots triangulate, the largest just shy of the center, wherein the darker lower right.
A lot of times, life doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes I feel like I’m outside looking in on my own experience as though it has already played out. Like I’m just watching things happen, binging some TV internet series that never really started and probably ends without any culmination or resolution. Just kinda drops and doesn’t get picked up for another season. Though the feeling of being an outsider to your own self is a bit numbing. Some people have referred to this feeling as being on autopilot or lost in a dream. But to me, it feels like I’ve been dreaming in reverse with a hint of déjà vu.
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