Frankie in the Moonlight

$30.00

Print measures 9”x 12” (Has Border)

Giclee print on bright white 255 gsm Epson Somerset Velvet. This paper is 100% cotton and certified archival. This paper has some texture to it, which can best be seen in close-up (photo #3).

Acid and Lignin-free (Lignins acidify paper as they degrade over time).

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Do memories linger in our flesh after our bodies die?

What about our dreams?

It’s a dreadful thing, to be made of so many different people. A forehead from one man, a few fingers from another. Flesh permeated with the dreams and desires of dozens, now long dead.

And the screaming never stops. A clamor of voices trying to make their way to the forefront, an uninterpretable mass crowding out any individual thought.And it gives Frankenstein migraines.

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Print measures 9”x 12” (Has Border)

Giclee print on bright white 255 gsm Epson Somerset Velvet. This paper is 100% cotton and certified archival. This paper has some texture to it, which can best be seen in close-up (photo #3).

Acid and Lignin-free (Lignins acidify paper as they degrade over time).

——————————————————
Do memories linger in our flesh after our bodies die?

What about our dreams?

It’s a dreadful thing, to be made of so many different people. A forehead from one man, a few fingers from another. Flesh permeated with the dreams and desires of dozens, now long dead.

And the screaming never stops. A clamor of voices trying to make their way to the forefront, an uninterpretable mass crowding out any individual thought.And it gives Frankenstein migraines.

Print measures 9”x 12” (Has Border)

Giclee print on bright white 255 gsm Epson Somerset Velvet. This paper is 100% cotton and certified archival. This paper has some texture to it, which can best be seen in close-up (photo #3).

Acid and Lignin-free (Lignins acidify paper as they degrade over time).

——————————————————
Do memories linger in our flesh after our bodies die?

What about our dreams?

It’s a dreadful thing, to be made of so many different people. A forehead from one man, a few fingers from another. Flesh permeated with the dreams and desires of dozens, now long dead.

And the screaming never stops. A clamor of voices trying to make their way to the forefront, an uninterpretable mass crowding out any individual thought.And it gives Frankenstein migraines.