Gearworld Invasion

There are stretches of the gearworld, of course, where the trees have thrust roots in and tumbled down the walls, throttled the gears with vines and let sunlight and goldfinches into the concrete gloom. And this is normal and natural and ongoing, and the only extraordinary bit, which only a clever observer might notice, is that the gearworld never seems to get any smaller despite it.

This one was rough. The gearworld's this place I revisit in digital paintings--a random collection of rooms of gears and concrete and shadows and weirdness--and it has total veto power over me. I'm more like cartographer than the inventor. So I spent four hours on a figure, and in the end, it was rejected like a faulty baboon kidney, and I had to take it out again. I still don't know if this is right or if it's missing something--art without figures is unusual for me--but I figured I'd just leave it as it wanted to be and call it good.