In my work everything is alive. Mountains turn into ghosts turn into hair turn into mountains again. Everything has eyes. Everything looks and sees. In these made up worlds the colors are soft and pretty, they drip like melting ice cream. For some reason everyone is sad and I’m not sure why. It might be because sometimes the mountains just want to be mountains and the ghosts just want to be ghosts. They wish they could be themselves and that would be enough.
But I don’t draw them that way.