Dale Christopher Wells alternates between the excesses of mental frailty and the rational of analytics. His dystopian worlds represent multiple time frames, each folded together, to create dense, brooding narrative pieces. They evoke memories, feelings and impulses which evade scrutiny and sense in any meaningful way.
About his sludge-like architecture, are littered pigs and weird spectrums in equal measure. After all, if COVID has taught us anything, absolute horror is always made more palatable through rainbows.
“From a field of live foetor, obscene columns, pylons of blackness and shaped by the parting of souls, rear skyward, bearing the scents of puberty, im Niedergang. They struggle to contain the mountains of offal within. From the sewage-caked mouthes of hoppers, hung from the firmament, these things, rusted and becalmed upon a urinary main, these proto-architectural polyps have been vomited. Stillborn and worm cast, they languish.
From twin windows, I observe this industry and feel at once, aroused by its being, and revulsed at it having to be so. The liminality of pre-milt and and the expectation of bile revealing the nature of all lives. Between the miden, and churning galaxia, we exist on a spectrum, the exact point of which, observable by momentary station.”
Dale Christopher Wells
