"Jon Otis gallivants perpendicularly within painted vicissitudes of esoteric hyperbole while traversing a wan canvas. Sans-subterfuge, Otis enlivens with unctuous fingerprints, and quid pro quo, the once groggy cadaver arises and pontificates like a poetaster's premier recitation of interminable verse. To consummate the metaphysical usurpation, Otis consecrates his beautified Pangaea like a deist, not a theist, conserving ambivalence to the congregation's notion of "trinity." All is interdependent to Otis, and his initial diabolical wish has conjured a tryst where marmots and pixies lay."

-Kurt Johnson, Brooklyn, NY

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