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Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
ORIGINAL ARTWORK DETAILS
• Title: Backseat Dreaming
• Medium: Charcoal on Archival Fine Art Paper
• Dimensions: 23" x 30.5"
• Includes Certificate of Authenticity, archival presentation, and insured white-glove shipping or local pickup at The Malin
• Packaging: fully insured delivery
• Schedule Local Pick Up Time Here: https://rubyriotcreatives.as.me/artpickup
• Or Flat Rate Shipping in the U.S. (inquiry for international shipping.)
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ABOUT THE PIECE
He doesn't do lip service. He doesn't say what you want to hear—he means what he says, and he took four months before ever uttering the words I love you. He smells like everything a man should be: warm, inviting, and upright, like a 1950s magazine ad printed in color for the very first time. He smells like what makes babies feel safe to nap, what makes America run, what makes a man hand a kid a quarter for the barbershop gumball machine. He smells like the quiet promise that everything is going to be taken care of. When my ear is pressed against his chest, I hear the living echo of the prayers I whispered to God as a teenager.
In Backseat Dreaming, I do not draw walls. I do not draw armor. I draw a woman curled in the seat beside her man, throwing her head back in ecstatic, unrestrained laughter. Her chin is tilted up, completely exposed, softened in absolute delight.
Here’s to nuzzling right up to vulnerability and unapologetically choosing to live heart wide open—again and again and again.
ORIGINAL ARTWORK DETAILS
• Title: Backseat Dreaming
• Medium: Charcoal on Archival Fine Art Paper
• Dimensions: 23" x 30.5"
• Includes Certificate of Authenticity, archival presentation, and insured white-glove shipping or local pickup at The Malin
• Packaging: fully insured delivery
• Schedule Local Pick Up Time Here: https://rubyriotcreatives.as.me/artpickup
• Or Flat Rate Shipping in the U.S. (inquiry for international shipping.)
---
ABOUT THE PIECE
He doesn't do lip service. He doesn't say what you want to hear—he means what he says, and he took four months before ever uttering the words I love you. He smells like everything a man should be: warm, inviting, and upright, like a 1950s magazine ad printed in color for the very first time. He smells like what makes babies feel safe to nap, what makes America run, what makes a man hand a kid a quarter for the barbershop gumball machine. He smells like the quiet promise that everything is going to be taken care of. When my ear is pressed against his chest, I hear the living echo of the prayers I whispered to God as a teenager.
In Backseat Dreaming, I do not draw walls. I do not draw armor. I draw a woman curled in the seat beside her man, throwing her head back in ecstatic, unrestrained laughter. Her chin is tilted up, completely exposed, softened in absolute delight.
Here’s to nuzzling right up to vulnerability and unapologetically choosing to live heart wide open—again and again and again.
