Without making any comment on the skill of the artist—the paint clinging to this canvas like East Texas lichen on a granite slab as it does—the artist completely succeeds in capturing the echoing loneliness of the desert, as only a native could. Perhaps a llama, or maybe a peccary, but members of Hippopotamidae don’t usually use a drybrush technique.
If it isn’t an empty desert held together by a single cactus, it might be the end of “Night of the Dead” where the zombie shoves his hand out of the earth right before the credits roll. But that seems unlikely. For one, the sky’s kind of trippy and of a southwestern palate. And if a zombie could shove his fist through sandstone, just…give up. Hand your brains over and save yourself the trauma.
Or maybe it’s the last thing Simba saw right after he pushed his uncle over a cliff at the end of “Lion King,” one pathetic paw scrabbling desperately for life, for help, but getting no aid from its owner’s regicide nephew. Lions are bastards, when you get right down to it. So are zombies.
If you’re lost in the desert, whatever you do, don’t look at the sky. Men go mad, looking at the desert sky. They go mad, then they try to paint landscapes.
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