If this is a portrait of you; why are you sitting on an open drawer? Are you all alone? Is the next drawer above you, also open, filled with spoons, spices, heavy with rare coins, or packed full of deep fried platypuses?

People are peeking out through holes in your clothing so let me ask you: are these people you, from ages past? Do you, as a six year old, sometimes play with your food while sitting in a four star restaurant because you’re again six and decided you don’t like the taste of something, although it had a pretty name on the menu? Do you pile the stuff up in an impressive mound then dive bomb it with your desert fork?

Perhaps those living with you, inside your clothing, are friends and enemies who have affected and formed you? Are they different functions and personality traits of yours? Maybe they’re zombie vampires eating away at you from the inside? Maybe their names are Smoking, or Over Eating Brownies, or Alice?

Are the white spots in the sky area clouds or giant popcorn pieces? Have the popcorn appendages, the popcorns’ arms and legs, blown off the main kernel, or have they been snapped off by the alligator, or startled into space by the strange sun?

Are flowers falling from an overhead moon or are red apples pierced by green pencils raining down from popcorn clouds?

Holes are drilled into the board that support this painting; holes being the opposite of protruding thorns.

Solid blue or multicolor bands hug both sides of each branch and the trunk. Is this music incarnate? Are trees magnets to music or is the big plant sounding off as it grows?

Are you up that tree? Are you howling at heaven, singing the blues, or are you punctured by thorns? I need to know.