“Yeah, I actually pressed Dad to buy that one,” Davis said. “Couple years ago, he took me to an art fair in Miami Beach. I really love KJM’s work.”
I noticed Noah was lying on the same couch, playing what appeared to be the same video game.
“Noah, these are my friends. Friends, Noah.” “’Sup,” Noah said.
“Is it okay if I just, like, walk around?” Mychal asked. “Yeah, of course. Check out the Rauschenberg combine upstairs.”
“No way,” Mychal said, and charged up the stairs, Daisy trailing behind him.
I found myself pulled toward the painting that Mychal had called “Pettibon.”
It was a colorful spiral, or maybe a multicolored rose, or a whirlpool.
By some trick of the curved lines, my eyes got lost in the painting so that I kept having to refocus on tiny individual pieces of it.
It didn’t feel like something I was looking at so much as something I was part of.
I felt, and then dismissed, an urge to grab the painting off the wall and run away with it.
I jumped a little when Davis placed his hand on the small of my back.
“Raymond Pettibon. He’s most famous for his paintings of surfers, but I like his spirals.
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