James Jean brewed ‘Teatime II’ with a brush and a palette of pinks, greens, and peaches. Imagine him pouring the first layer, and the next, building up the image like a strange, sweet dream. I can almost see Jean, hovering over the canvas, deciding where to lay down the next line. Are those elegant pink tendrils supporting that central figure, or emerging from her? The painting feels botanical, but with a touch of the surreal. It reminds me of some of Henri Rousseau’s strange jungles, crossed with the smooth psychedelia of Peter Max. The whole piece is like a garden, and I love how he mixed hard-edged and soft shapes, so the eye can float around. Like any good garden, it feels like the beginning of a story. I wonder what happens next?
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