Rabelaisian Torque, 8”

“Jack Mann leaned into the wind as the boat crossed the Sri Lankan Riviera. He didn’t need to write a book or know a baron. He would lose his socks and eat crab and die like the rest, at the bottom of the social ladder, like all corpses. The best he could hope for was to be left alone while he enjoyed the jokes and secrets in his own mind.” This is how all books sound to a child of five. 

Paint, pencils, and oil pens, stiff 1/8” gesso board, 8”