the wrack...
there was no satisfaction in this situation he found himself this evening crouching behind a heaving dumpster. the acerbic, ammoniac aroma was more than putrefying but he had to suffer it and silently. they were looking for him and he needed to rest for a moment, catch his breath. his thoughts. it was difficult to comprehend what had happened earlier with the veil of gin and tonic still draped around him but he had a feeling that whatever it was, was not okay. his hands, clothes, dirtied with blood. heart-rate increase. the thrum of booze and palpitations disguises the sound of approaching voices. a young couple, drifters, kick a stray bottle that catches his attention. hands ready. feet ready. the drifters walk by without a care to what was out of view. in this fortunate case, it was him.
a mire congeals around his feet, drippings of the trash inside the dumpster. time to go. his hand quickly realizes it foul up in the worst way possible and is smack-dab in the middle of the trash liquid, placed in attempt to balance, to run away. he slips. tragically, face first into what we are all dreadingthe sloppy amalgamous mess of dumpster spew. a grotesque slip’n’slide akin to first steps of newborn deer. in all the messy disorder he was oblivious to the vehicle parked up the alleyway observing. the dark shapes of a driver, passenger are barely visible through the windshield. rabbits knowing that they are prey tend to run all the same. predictable. especially bunny rabbits that forget their link in the chain, ones that forget the rules naturally ordered. once one bunny goes bad the wrack will follow. eyes staring in the dark can be felt. the shadows continue to sit in the car and watch as he collects himself off the ground, wiping the slop on a discarded cardboard box in a frenzy to be quick and quiet, striking out on both. a key-chain
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dangles from the cars steering console, handful of keys and a lucky fluffy red rabbits foot. ignition turns. high-beam headlights hit him letting him know they found him. futility in running further at this juncture makes deciding quick and easy. rear left passenger door opens. he hops in.
the shadows in the front seats become forms of flesh in the green glow of the car radio. a lighter flame takes a hold of a cigarette and its flickering illuminates the rest of the form. staring directly back at him was none other than mr. foxworth. they sent the best to snare him this time. the hunter cooperative riding shot-gun, infamously known as reynard de la voix, stares piercingly at him with devouring intent.
unburdened of fleeing he sat in the back seat watching streetlights streak with a pace that kept up with local speed-limits. these two were far too crafty for prepubescent mistakes. there was no doubt where they were taking him. and swiftly.
the perversion of a car engine throttle and electric junction box hum is audible through the car’s open windows. an abrupt stop when they arrived seconds ago sent plumes of dust frolicking into the night. passenger door opens, then rear left passenger door opens. he is liberated from the leather seat to the dirt ground. electrical hums overwhelm. a detestable, voltaic buzz that can be felt. mr foxworth still in the driver seat nods to raynard. a swift, efficient kick to the ribs gets off the dirt ground and on his way.
facing him ominously a filthy derelict building, collapsed on the end and fallen to time. centered a singular red metal door that is hard to see among the blinding fractures of a neon sign on the blink and bearing candy coated letters of a single word. heaven
...will follow
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37 BUBBLE-YUM CONSTALLATION
(27”x48”)
GUM
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41 NECCO-PEPTO (48”x27”)
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45 A SALVATING SUMMER-TIME REVERIE OF MIAMI VICE CREAM
(27”x48”)
Neon candy crumbs congeal in to symmetrical expressions, conforming into new structures, new dream-states; Heavens. Multitudinous flavors give way to a sacrin experience, like roller-skating amongst delectable chromatic manufactured constellations. These energetic flourishes, glossy in all their glory act as a type of jeweled annotation across the surfaces. The paintings have a feeling to them, reminiscent of constructed dreams that are easy to digest and craved with salivating delight. They leave a long lingering tingly pop-rocks sensation on the palate. To calm take large sips from big-gulps but alas the frozen elixirs wrath; brain freeze. It’s a fun you taste. It’s a fun you feel.
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- T.STANDEN | SANTA FE N.M.
CANDY COATED HEAVENS
ALL ARTWORK AND WRITING © TYLER STANDEN DESIGN: TS CREATIVE WORKS | ALL PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF THE ARTIST
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS MAY BE REPRINTED OR REPRODUCED IN ANY FOR OR BY ELECTORNIC, OR MECHANICAL, OR OTHER MEANS NOW KNOWN OR INVENTED THEREAFTER, WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION FROM THE ARTIST.
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