Emil Sands - Garden Party, 1998

You look up. That is the first thing — the painting positions you below, gazing upward into a winter tree at night, its bare branches spreading and crossing against a sky of deep, bruised blue. A string of fairy lights traces the structure of the tree, each small bulb a pale point of warmth against the cold, following the branches with the fidelity of something that has been wound there by hand. The tree is bare, so it must be late in the year; the lights have been put there anyway. The ac

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