[8 August 2023] Corruption, serpents, darkness, folded over awkwardly, crushed digitally, in the three-dimensional rendering, swept away in the currents below. Unable to see, burnt desiccated ash and smoke. Each flower has my fingerprint. I see dark tubes forming something like a digestive system.

[9 August 2023] I count 77 flowers here. About 22 petals per flower. So that is 77x22=1694 petals. It seems like a fair price to charge for this painting. Flaming petals, on fire, blazing—fire in this one, as opposed to water. There's something apocalyptic about this one; renewal requires destruction. Renew, repeat, but better this time round. Vegetation often speaks of social systems to me. Complexity, fecundity, disorientation, too complex to understand, relinquishing control, relinquishing possession, beyond understanding, beyond control. If I repeat this image sixteen times, then I would have painted about 27 104 petals. Still not nearly complex enough to represent a social system. How do we administrate all these people? How do we control them? Who of us has ever consciously counted to 27 104? What are we trying to do, and why? Can you see the glowing lava below the volcanic soil from which these savage blooms are emerging? Flowers don't grow from fire; they need water. Can you see the abhorrent savage hell-blooms I see? Is this saying something about us or just me? Is this a self-portrait? I did not expect these flowers to be so dark. There is no rain in this one. Am I struggling to see past my conceptual framework? If these are not flowers, what are they? Ideas? Is this painting about anger? I see these savage ideas multiplying. Each idea has a dark center, radiating fire, feeding from a seemingly endless well of lava. Am I really that angry? Are you?