William Gibson's last book, Pattern Recognition has a passage that reads:
On the wall to her left is a triptych by a Japanese artist whose name she forgets, three four by eight panels of plywood hung side by side. On these have been silk-screened, in layers, logos and big-eyed manga girls, but each succesive layer of paint has been sanded to a ghostly translucency, varnished, then overlaid with others, which have in turn been sanded, varnished... The result for Cayce being very soft, deep, almost soothing, but with the uneasy hallucinatory suggestion of panic about to break through.
When I woke up this morning, that started to make sense to me a bit. Or at least I think it did... So I made these. Or perhaps I gravitate more toward the distopic?