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At one point in time, the world was mostly monsters. Legions of fantastical things existed outside of ourselves that were for the most part, unknown. Being creatures who make sense of things, we dedicated ourselves to understanding them. We categorized them, named them, and even found profound respect and admiration for them. Sometimes this was because of their destructive capabilities, instead of despite them. We challenged entropy and sorted our world. Then there were wolves and whales, and fewer monsters.
Equally important is the fact that there is a legion of things that exist inside of ourselves that are for the most part unknown. Mining oneself to get to know and name those things is an arduous task. It is also every bit as rewarding as knowing that the loud creature that has been tailing you with sharp teeth and claws is just a dog, and will turn out to be your best friend.
Monsters are only stories of things we try to understand in their context and ours. I paint monsters.
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