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We all desire pastoral landscapes of the mind. Our brains filled with air and breeze and clean air and not fritzed electrical haywiring of modern signal overload, our heads like honey poured into a toaster on a world turned to stimulants, advertising, notifications, likes, news reels, and the raw garbage of information, images, neon light to simulate 24/7 daylight. And so our paintings conjure the possibility of an otherwise like a surrealism. Empty heads.
