Above my bookshelf, in my room, on white wall, hangs a copy of a copy of a copy… of Hokusai’s seminal yet clichéd painting, The Great Wave. I had bought the piece because I have always felt a strange draw to this image. The wave, a massive monster anthropomorphized into a sinister demon with a thousand vicious hands. Mt. Fuji in the background rendered minuscule by this strange trick of perspective, or by the feeling of helplessness of man lost at sea. It took me a while after buying this piece and having it on my wall, this symphony of horror staring at me in the safety of my home day after week after month, to see what this strange draw was.

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