This is from a dream wherein I wandered barefoot in a city that was haloed with green fire. There was a Patron Saint of Roses– although I only decided to give her that name upon waking. There was an immensity of city and of green. It was one of those dreams that only a painting can really talk about. It was extremely visceral and visual. A strange place, perhaps even dangerous, yet one where I felt happy to feel the warm cobblestones under my naked feet. The Patron Saint of Roses I took and rendered into the artist performing magic, in this case turning roses into flying pink fish by crushing them in her hands.
There you go: art as a disproportional act.