Victoria Reynolds

I know when I’m swinging my oversized plastic C-Town basket down the open freezer aisle I get slightly aroused casting my eyes across the frozen rows of pastel styrofoam ornamented with deep reds and pale whites.  A choice family sized package of chicken thighs proposition me from a far shelf or a cross section of beef tip dark as a mortar wound.  It’s easy to see how ancient religions blended sex with sacrifice; red is the color of love, passion, blood, your own muscle.  It’s a fragile thread which traipses the signals between sexy and sickening but Victoria Reynolds walks it like a high wire act.  Her incredibly luscious oil paintings depict slabs of bacon, a field dressed deer and long trails of tripe.  Each painting arouses in the viewer a deep hunger, though maybe not to run for their George Foreman.  Meat is murder, then again, we’re hunters.

via Sweet Station
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