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Artist
My B.I.L who is a pure analytic cartesian mind has not been convinced by my "The Cat Who Rewrites the Afternoon" because of the disrupted anatomy of the girl on the sofa.
I made this image for him.
Hat poised like a rule,
sofa squares obey her calm—
toys plan quiet crimes.
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Dear B.I.L.
Here sits the pastor’s wife, as impeccably composed as if she were secretly judging the symmetry of the universe.
Her hat is positioned with the kind of precision that would make a surveyor nod in approval, and her outfit looks like it passed a quality-control inspection before she put it on.
The sofa, wisely aware of its responsibilities, keeps itself in perfect geometric discipline —
after all, one does not host a well-thinking pastor’s wife while sagging or slouching.
Her stuffed companions, meanwhile, are clearly plotting something.
Look closely: they have that expression — the one that says,
“We know things. We just don’t tell.”
The whole scene is a polite little rebellion:
everything seems proper and orderly…
yet the colors whisper, the toys scheme,
and the pastor’s wife smiles as if she knows an inside joke about the entire room.
It’s a domestic tableau with impeccable manners —
and just enough troublemakers in the corners to keep reason on its toes.
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