CAN I PLAY
Welcome to a Technicolor playground where i am hanging with Mr. Cooper finger-painting. Beatenup benches vandalized with sentiments of teenage adoration sit vacant and witness ribbons of neon light hop-scotch about friends in play. These glamorous beings, colours, textural fabrics, composition and landscapes, become undergrided by gestural somersaults in vibrant expressions. Painted during opportunities where the only medium at hand was a four inch screen and finger. A newly found severed finger, you ask? No, just mine-still attached. The digital-works are then printed on fabric and painted with an amalgam of house paint, car paint, and oils. Each one of the photos have an energy that I adore instantaneously when first laying eyes on them. They all whisper to me, softly at first , growing louder under constant gaze , “can i play?”




through the panes of havanna
she is enshroud by a gaunt palms shadow . resting her head in the frame of her bent arm, lost in thought of her rundown heart. it was a lonely three weeks since her smile fell away down the rain heavy gutters, along with the trash. monsoon season brought more than the rain to the island. the blossoms coalesce with tobacco smoke in redolent wafts through her open window. reminiscent of her childhood memories on grandfathers farm. it brought her calm for the first time in weeks. a beloved stillness for her mind. stretching from her midday eye-rest and giving dissolution to the problems roaming her mind she prepares a cup of coffee. she sits back down by the window and the sun, staring out at the faded pink and blue buildings lining the street. horns from tired cars serenade with birds and squawking people. what a glorious place that progress forgot. here she felt right at home. it was like living in an old Technicolor movie-film.







she felt like a bargain box at a yard sale after attempting to steal her boss’s lunch for the second time. He always had delicious feasts trussed inside a neatly folded brown paper bag. the tuna fish tragedy that was her lunch today caused her to hate existence in a very existential way.
HOP-SCOTCH HEROES









we play on sunshine we do somersaults in the sun. one after another. our hair grazing the ground as we twirl over and over. there’s an over-pass where we hang out. we do somersaults under it. in the summer the ground burns your hands. we hate the summer. we play on sunshine.
CAN I PLAY
CAN I PLAY ALL ARTWORK AND WRITING © TYLER STANDEN DESIGN: TS CREATIVE WORKS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS MAY BE REPRINTED OR REPRODUCED IN ANY FOR OR BY ELECTRONIC, OR MECHANICAL, OR OTHER MEANS NOW KNOWN OR INVENTED THEREAFTER, WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION FROM THE ARTIST.