Sometimes in life, our reactionary feelings get the best of our true intentions. Before coming to The Painter's Room, Phil, Alfonso, and I were on vacation with our friend Seb down in Ensenada, Mexico. I'm not someone who likes to kill bugs and even flies when they're around. But this was absolutely out of control. They would hide and bite, evading all of our tireless swats. After a few days, it just got to be too much and I had to at least wean down their incredible population size. With my trusty hair brush, I swatted four out of the air and crushed them in a mighty paper towel. I felt kind of sad. What if those were my ancestors coming to say hello and bring good blessings. I knew I had to immortalize them somehow.
There is beauty in death. The way the body of the fly lays still lets us, for once, get a good look at its beautiful design. How incredible is it that these tiny wings carry this little mass across its existence. A fly has some vibrant colors if you take a close look. The blood splattered reminds us that it is dead, drawn in a grid to try and not be too eerie. Altogether, it's been described as "crunchy" which I think puts it well. But aren’t we all?