Seven's supposed to be a lucky number, but "lucky numbers" are supposed to be a bunch of superstitious folderol. But, of course, monsters are also supposed to be superstitious folderol, right? Or, at best, they're "creatures from the id" never come to fruition in the waking, meatspace world outside of Technicolor phantasmagoria starring Anne Francis and Walter Pidgeon.
And yet: Observe the walls in Domy Books' recently emsmallened gallery. Feast your image-hungry jellies on what there is to see: monsters, baby, and plenty of 'em. Solid evidence that, while not photographic, remains irrefutable as to the veracity of monsterdom. It also remains vivid and disturbing, delightful and discomfiting, whether it's Abi Daniels' young zombie deer feasting upon their fallen comrades or Brendan Monroe's smooth deep figure of blood seen from the back and seemingly in anguish. Here, too, are the kawaii black demon-kitties of Deth P. Sun and Fionn McCabe's Too Old For Braces abomination of childhood; monster-bearing rocks inked by Kevin McNamee-Tweed; the heavy-metal tattoo creatures of Matt Furie; and the masklike paper manifestation of horror from celebrated local Jules Buck Jones.
Here are more and more monsters and mutations, rendered in two dimensions (or, in the case of Darin Hoopes' contribution, in a length of carved tree branch transmogrified into a lifesize skeletal arm with fingers reaching creepily), bringing color and grotesquery to the gallery walls where so many books and artful objects beckon like the temptations of tasty, tasty sin.
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