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September 25, 2009
The black-clad wine-sippers, berets both imaginary and real, read deep meaning into the artist's representation of footless subjects. A bathrobe-clad hausfrau, feet submerged in mud. An old man in a three-piece suit, rooted in the ocean. Three red-faced kids, all six feet buried in snow. A military man and his bayonet, ankle-deep in freshly-killed enemies.

"No, what he's saying is we're paralyzed by situations of our own creation," a man in a white scarf says in a monotone to his companion.

"No, what I'm saying is I can't draw feet," the artist, perched by the cheese, whispers to the Camembert.