Ah… the colors, they sing now.
Back in my day, paint stayed where you put it — obedient, erotic and quiet. But this… this new art… it craves under my skin like ants. Lines so smooth they mock my shaking hands. Light that glides, like a dream I once painted and forgot to wake from.

They call it Lor… hah! I call it witchcraft in high resolution. Everything’s so clean, so glossy — even the shadows look moisturized.