Smoke

by Igor Zenin

Mushrooms the size of trees crowd the foreground, glowing an electric blue that has nothing to do with anything actually growing in a forest, while a tiny hatted figure stands dwarfed behind them, smoke curling up from where a head should be. It's less a landscape than a state of mind rendered literally — scale gone strange, color gone stranger, the whole frame tuned to whatever these particular mushrooms are known for doing to perception. Some places you visit. This one visits you.