The artiste, filled with pomposity and afflicted with a bizarre personality disorder which causes all self-referential comments to be in the third person, presents this deeply symbolic portrait to the viewer. Riddled with angst, psychological pain, and some sort of terrible affliction that apparently causes layers of facial flesh to just peel off like an onion-skin, the artiste seeks to illuminate the inner torment that motivates him to create what appear to be mostly boring pastoral landscapes.

    Though his voluminous works may seem bucolic in nature at first glance, the artiste wants the viewing public to realize that he presents the mere facade of bucolism (along with the mere facade that he has the slightest inkling of what the hell he’s talking about) and that these pretty pictures are just chock-full of existential commentary about the meaning of life, the universe, and just about everything else. Unfortunately, these obscurantic, yet brilliant, insights into the meaning of all worth knowing, are only visible to those similarily stricken with rare, and incurable, skin-peeling diseases.