Here is a really intelligent and elegantly written observation (in my opinion):
"But one begins to sense a failure of nerve, a need to apologize for indulgences. In Owl, Rome (1997), swirls and puddles of shellac mixed with sand saturate the paper and stain it a range of dull ochres. A crumpled rag of the same color is glued to the upper third of the longish sheet of paper. Both this brazen non sequitur and the chaotic vigorousness of Dine’s treatment of the owl’s body feel like a guilty justification for the comparatively precious head sitting predictably atop it."
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