The Garden: Mobile Wallpapers

 

It’s a sickness.  Like all forms of vanity, I can’t help myself from disappearing up my own ass. How does one please one’s self? With idle hands of course. I was in the mood, and so, I did. So here’s a treat for your corrupt, wicked ways. Wallpapers. Yes. Vertical strips of decorative deceit.  These dirty bits and slices from the upcoming exhibit will tease and dance, for free. It’s all about letting the laundry dry up in the open. Yes, it has that garden-fresh smell. No, there will be no picking of flowers. Pluck.

Blossoms decide to be seen a certain way. They’re like cheese sliding off a cracker just before the bite. They’re slowly becoming an invented commodity if they aren’t already. These fragments will grow and become characters for our mind-numbing situations.

They start as fictional, which is, perforce beyond faults except within the restrictions of contemporary living: medicated indifference, chronic profanities and dreadful maintenance. These are sticky, self-inducing situations. It’s time to take an ill turn. Whys and wherefores be damned. I’ve always enjoyed coming up with misguided characters and make-believe landscapes anyway, and this bud won’t be nipped anytime soon. I hope they find their ways into your neat places. They’re good company. They’re quite touching and as per request, they can also be, as touchy. Be guided accordingly. Clothing is always optional.

When creating, even the worst idea becomes perfect. There’s no right or wrong way of coming up with crooked visions. Most of them are hazy, hasty, unnoticed, and unfocused anyway. And despite my mind’s protestations, it’s decided to reveal the self-mocking artfulness of this flowery libido. Both in method and outcome, it’s become a necessity after developing the death of social graces.

It’s nice to survive one context after another. These works are little obstacles made with a child’s delight. It’s a gift to all who seek salvation from getting their asses kicked by life’s heaviness and uncertainty. I’ll be selling half-broken dreams. Please complete it with your pristine half. Go ahead, always try the unsweetened. It’s ok to be a scared romantic. We’re all Capricorns and they’re all Cancers.

These were made from the doubts of the cynics. With their lukewarm blood as fuel, it’ll exist outside the rubbish of everyday life and will act as an amplifier for your very own surface noise. Could that be your heart beating? Kick-start.

In order to cinch a dramatic deal, these pieces will be exhibited soon enough for far-reaching consequences and imploding reasons. It’s got a lightness of touch and a wink to it.

You can almost certainly pick fights with it, but don’t expect to get all black and blue. They can only tickle and fiddle.

I only hope it’s also a sweet tune for you.

-C

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