When the technician puts conductant on McMurphy's temples, and the irons get close enough, light arcs across, stiffens him, bridges him up off the table till nothing is down but his wrists and ankles. . . and he's frosted over completely with sparks. Then it is Chief Broom's turn. The machine hunches on him, and he takes us through the air raid in his head. . .
Cuckoo, 32" x 44", oil and paper on canvas, 2014.
To see all blog posts click HERE.