As Aleister Crowley supposedly said, “Doubt, and doubt that you doubt.”
We all think we’re so modern, here in the age of big special effects, fast computers, and lots and lots of books. In fact, much of what was shown to humans several thousands of years ago by handy little plants and fungi has yet to stick. Your basic shaman on peyote has experienced, firsthand, energies we’ve yet to meter or even suspect; hell, your average teenager on a hit of blotter has a pretty good seat for much of the view. Problem is, when it wears off, you’re stuck back in this doddering monkey-brain, with little to remind you and few tools to assist, and lots of yammering voices shoving crap interpretations onto everything. Religion is still the number one cause of stupidity in the world, the ego is the best model for consciousness we can manage, and sports news takes up half the newspaper; fascism and regression are winning. We'll probably always need some souvenirs from the far other sides to remind us they’re really there, or at the very least to encourage us to look beyond. I'm happy to help with that.
We generally buy whatever our senses send our way, quite unaware that the senses themselves contribute the greatest part of the signal. These paintings and drawings are intended to engage and confound the senses, to tease indefinitely with the promise of something odd; hopefully they resist and escape urges to get them into some kind of whole, such that the organizing mechanism is exposed and fails, which is fun to watch.
Fear and negativity co-generate durable snowballs of horseshit with amazing speed, while awareness and intelligence make a tentative, fragile veil at best. But what else you gonna do? The more you try to sleep, the weirder your dreams get; there's no winning, just play.