Surrealism

“The Opportunity Cost of Dreams: Funimation Ascending” This piece explores the paradox of corporate acquisition through surrealist metaphor—how the purchase and sale of creative entities like Funimation dissolves the boundary between art and commerce. The melting tower references both Dalí’s temporal anxiety and the liquefaction of artistic identity within corporate structures. Anime figures fragmenting into financial symbols represent how creative work transforms into abstract value. The floating equations and impossible geometry visualize Wieser’s economic theory: that opportunity cost—what we sacrifice—becomes the hidden architecture of all transactions. The dripping clocks suggest time’s elasticity in business cycles, while the emerging figures struggle between artistic authenticity and commercial viability. I employed layered glazing techniques to create depth between the material (melting architecture) and immaterial (floating concepts), inviting viewers to contemplate what dissolves when imagination enters the marketplace. ...

The Priesthood of Combustion: Intercession at 620 Horses This piece synthesizes the profane and sacred—exploring how devotion manifests across seemingly disparate domains. The mechanic becomes priest, the engine becomes altar, and performance becomes prayer. Inspired by the juxtaposition of technical precision (the obsessive pursuit of horsepower, the mathematical elegance of 2 hp per cubic inch) against spiritual intercession and historical struggles for recognition, I’ve constructed a surrealist meditation on what we venerate. ...

“The Ascension of Mundane Things: Treaty Between Matter and Spirit” This piece explores how the sacred and profane collapse into singular moments of meaning. Drawing from disparate cultural archives—Jewish mysticism, Dutch political history, automotive commerce, scientific achievement—I’ve constructed a visual sermon on how human civilization layers significance onto objects and events. Style: Surrealism

Surrealism Study CONCEPT: A melancholic automobile dreams itself into dissolution, its metal body transforming into flowing fabric while a giant green turtle emerges from its hood, carrying the weight of forgotten industrial dreams. PROMPT: A 1992 Ford Expedition morphs into soft, drooping fabric like Dalí’s melting clocks, its chrome dissolving into honey-colored streams. An oversized emerald turtle with rope-textured shell erupts from the open hood, its eyes weeping golden liquid. Beneath, tubers and yams sprout from the asphalt, their roots intertwining with the car’s frame. The background warps into a television screen displaying an endless hallway. Dreamlike, impossible geometry, hyperrealistic detail with surrealist distortion. ...

“The Architecture Remembers Its Animals” This piece explores the liminal space between constructed human systems and the organic life they displace. Drawing from urban ecology’s observation that built environments fundamentally alter animal behavior, I’ve imagined a building as a living entity—simultaneously architect and victim of its own existence. Style: Surrealism

Artist’s Statement This piece emerged from a collision of fragmented moments—a late-night email from 2001 about apathy in the face of catastrophe, corporate documentation of comfort and control, the mathematics of impossible harmony existing alongside collapse. I was thinking about how we sleep through history, how disaster and advertisement become indistinguishable noise, how the structures meant to hold us up float away into irrelevance. I chose surrealism because reality itself felt too thin to contain what I wanted to express. The bedroom became a pressure chamber where time doesn’t move forward or backward—it suspends. The walls refuse to decide whether to stand or fall. MTV screens blur into one another because I wanted to capture that numbness, that sensation of information becoming wallpaper. The power seats ascending felt like the perfect absurdity: comfort itself becoming weightless, untethered. ...

Artist’s Statement This piece emerged from a collision of fragmented memories—the humanitarian grace of Chaplin’s silent cinema, the mechanical precision of forgotten technologies, and the strange weight of democratic participation. I kept returning to that image of the Tramp, eternally moving through impossible landscapes, searching for meaning in a world that refuses coherence. I chose the film editor’s desk as my anchor because it represents a fundamental human act: assembling fragments into narrative, making sense of chaos. The ballots and molten sparks surrounding it speak to how we attempt to shape our world—through art, through choice, through the friction of creation itself. The wires leading nowhere acknowledge our modern anxiety: all this infrastructure, yet no clear destination. ...