Looking down from the rooftop of a massive mansion, you are at least half a dozen stories up in the air. Chimneys are scattered around at random and numerous trap doors built into the shingling promise both escape and certain danger. Surely it would be safer to risk whatever waits below. Already you can tell the building seems to be in a state of disrepair, tiles loose beneath your feet as you attempt to navigate the chaotic logic of the roof's peaks and sudden drops. The cornucopia itself seems conspicuously absent — only the audience and the sky whales above are able to see the way the subtle colors of the shingles draw an illusion of a three dimensional one upon the roof itself.

Turning on bird legs, the mansion stands over a fissure in the middle of a sprawling rose garden. Inside the mansion is full of dusty decadence — marble floors resembling a life-sized chessboard, chandeliers larger than some lower District houses, and ornately carved crown molding. Curious paintings are hung gallery-style up and down nearly every wall, but the most mind-boggling thing of all is the great hall at its heart. Countless stairways spiral and intertwine in every direction, disregarding gravity. There is a feeling of looking up, west, and backwards all at once and yet some trick of the light promises that all of this is possible. What's so mad about a tea party on the ceiling? Why not lounge upon such a luscious lip-shaped living room set mounted to a wall?

Turning on bird legs, the mansion stands over a fissure in the middle of a sprawling rose garden. Inside the mansion is full of dusty decadence — marble floors resembling a life-sized chessboard, chandeliers larger than some lower District houses, and ornately carved crown molding. Curious paintings are hung gallery-style up and down nearly every wall, but the most mind-boggling thing of all is the great hall at its heart. Countless stairways spiral and intertwine in every direction, disregarding gravity. There is a feeling of looking up, west, and backwards all at once and yet some trick of the light promises that all of this is possible. What's so mad about a tea party on the ceiling? Why not lounge upon such a luscious lip-shaped living room set mounted to a wall?

Here the earth becomes sky. Shallow water reflects the clouds above, schools of birds circling your ankles as you lose sight of dry land — of any sense of up or down. Only the occasional sand bar and your own movements break the deceptive stillness of the water. As the horizon disappears, sky into sky, you realize the sand is so pure and clear that you can see right through it... but surely that's only your own face being reflected up at you.

Here the earth becomes sky. Shallow water reflects the clouds above, schools of birds circling your ankles as you lose sight of dry land — of any sense of up or down. Only the occasional sand bar and your own movements break the deceptive stillness of the water. As the horizon disappears, sky into sky, you realize the sand is so pure and clear that you can see right through it... but surely that's only your own face being reflected up at you.

Every color intensifies until it is as if the sun lives within all things. The truth of this becomes most apparent when night tries and fails to claim the orchard, every flower and tree glowing eerily in defiance. There is only day here. Fuchsia leaves, lavender toadstools, golden hanging moss, powder blue apples, silver grass — this is a forgotten otherworld once dreamt of by little girls who love unicorns and little boys favoring pink. Maybe you. Overgrown and untended, nothing is as it should be. Every color is "wrong". Confused clocks draped over branches melt into puddles of water scattered across the ground, reflecting blue and clouds despite the canopy blotting out the sky. All the animals seem more human than you, even the glass-bellied tardigrades with their transparent bodies, insides on display.

Every color intensifies until it is as if the sun lives within all things. The truth of this becomes most apparent when night tries and fails to claim the orchard, every flower and tree glowing eerily in defiance. There is only day here. Fuchsia leaves, lavender toadstools, golden hanging moss, powder blue apples, silver grass — this is a forgotten otherworld once dreamt of by little girls who love unicorns and little boys favoring pink. Maybe you. Overgrown and untended, nothing is as it should be. Every color is "wrong". Confused clocks draped over branches melt into puddles of water scattered across the ground, reflecting blue and clouds despite the canopy blotting out the sky. All the animals seem more human than you, even the glass-bellied tardigrades with their transparent bodies, insides on display.

The landscape waits for you, holding its breath in anticipation of what it will become. Grass and dirt end and everything becomes colorless — less than white — except for herds of mutts roaming like strange nomadic tribes. Elephants as tall as gods, even from a distance, lose their heads in the clouds and you hope they continue thinking there is nothing here worth looking down for. Flocks of flying fish leap from cloud to cloud as sky whales float by, but there is nothing upon the endlessly blank earth until your hand draws it — be it blood or kinder colors.