I feel like this picture somehow clashes with itself. I mean, besides the simple fact that the child’s lips are peeled back, or possibly off, to reveal Â a skull’s grin, or that this particularly disturbing grin seems to be a dominant genetic trait, this painting seems to be wearing mixed plaids in a polka-dot world. Plus, it’s scary the way the painting itself seems to follow you around the room, almost like the old Ford is going to topple into your living room…maybe you had to be there, but if you were, you wouldn’t want to be.
Such…dainty, dainty feet. Like a delicate ballerina. I do think he’s wearing the same size shoes as his son (?) They may want larger shoes, with more traction, if they’re going to continue clinging to the sheer vertical surface of their world, though. Maybe the strangely contour-shaped butt indentation in the curb will help with that. He must have been sitting there for, like,Â years.
A father’s love knows no boundaries. He’d love you even if your head was mounted to your shoulder, you had a ham for a leg, and your eyes were sewn shut.Â That’s a father’s love.
Shirt by M.C. Escher.
Dad’s…looking at me. Is he looking at you, too? It’s not just me? Good.
Â Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin