I've got the next bunch of days off and nothing to do except probe the inner reaches of my psyche or clean my linen closet. And did I mention I don't have a linen closet?
These collages stem from the dreams I have wherein I have to go to the bathroom but the bathroom is a maze of bad smells and strange signs and flooded urinals that even Duchamp would not call art. I am sure these urinals would be called art, though, at least amidst the surrealists, whom I adhere.
I meant revere, of course. That was surrealism... in action!
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