Clasping the red cross of her dress, in line with her collar bones crossing her chest she thanks the faith she has for having made it home.

She was told that if she lost her way and made it back too late, she would turn into a pumpkin. Incidentally she did get lost, and the world tried to turn her into a pumpkin. Momentarily encased in it she fought and struggled to escape from within it. Suddenly it exploded and splattered against the walls and on all those about her. Her brother watches on, posed above her, guarded by man’s best friend. We each have our own support structures.

Do we ingest the problems as some of our brother’s do, distended and bloated, or do we break out of them? Having nothing – you’ve still got something, often found in the nothingness. It stands there alone without boundaries or rules – the ball awaits all of those.

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Original | Print

Original Oil, Limited Edition Print

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