Still-life photography is the moody teenager of the art world: misunderstood, brooding, and convinced it’s too deep for you. But I’ve always seen still life as an opportunity for chaos. My setup is less “meticulous artist” and more “accidental grocery store explosion.” Bowls teeter precariously. Fruit is in various stages of decomposition. Once, I had a pineapple burst into flames—don’t ask.
My favorite piece? A rotting orange juxtaposed with a pristine wine glass, titled “Citrus Inferno.” It’s part art, part health PSA, and entirely too dramatic for its own good. Still life, for me, isn’t about perfection; it’s about finding beauty in the mess—much like life itself.
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