Go 'head with your palette.
He seems to be having fun.
I don’t care if artists think they have to doom and gloom it: I like a winking grin.
The following is the description listed for the above image.
"approximately 7x9 feet.
House paint on wood and canvas.
Hermaphrodite angel totally bummed that Jesus is
dumping the cup of wine and is like "No Jesus, don't!
That's a totally bad idea..." and the head of John the
Baptist traveled back in time to bum on Jesus and vibe
him but Jesus is like "Fuck all 'yall!" Plus there's a
And we know I'm obsessed with images paired with words (vice versa).
There's street art too!
In the spirit of awe (which I think more artists need to relearn after years of looking and making and acting a fool), I love Ranson’s explanation for why many of his figures lack limbs [the bolding is mine: I like the last paragraph best]:
"Someone once asked me why there were no limbs on many of the figures in my paintings.
I gave a somewhat formulated answer being that this was a question that I was most often asked. But upon thinking about it, I decided the real root of my obsession was from an event that happened when I was five. I was sleeping over at my friends Charles and Andres' house because my parents went out for the evening. When I woke up in the morning I walked in to their parents bedroom while they were sleeping. Their sleeping father, who had had two arms the night before, now only had one. In its place was now only a stump, just below the shoulder. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I circled the bed quietly looking for the arm. Was it pinned under him? My mind couldn't comprehend the situation. How could he be sleeping so soundly when at some point during the night his arm had been removed? I could barely wait til he woke up. It was explained to me very delicately at their kitchen table where his prosthetic arm was lying. He told me in the simplest terms how he had lost it in the Vietnam war and then showed me how he put it on. I begged him to do it again, and kept begging until he became irritated.
It wasn't so much the morbid fascination that intrigued me, it was that sense of not being able to believe what I was seeing. This was that beautiful feeling of when reality is taken out of your hands. When everything you thought is, isn't. That feeling of being let in on a secret."
There’s a nifty interview with the man at my love for you is a stampede of horses.