I was thirteen when I first installed cubism on my hard drive. Its wooden house perched high on a hill overlooking a rocky icon which rose from the ocean. The scheme is an embodiment of all my compatibility problems – a rude, isolated landscape that walks past default ponds filled with moody ducks and feathers stuck to stones with monochrome shit. Children throw chunks of bread to fire the quacking concert. Each feather is stencilled, a blend of wet on wet. I feel myself becoming increasingly bitter as I identify failings in technique. I lay strokes of colour that glorify nature with a unique palette of semi-precious stones. Yellow-ochre and muted autumn pigments. I break the two dimensional barrier and view several aspects of on object simultaneously.
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