A scarecrow hung out to dry as the sun sets.
He is hollow and stuffed with straw, an insubstantial and easily flammable material. His corpse is like skin that decays as vultures feed on his insides and render him a shell.
This painting is a wordplay on a logical fallacy but more importantly, it reflects the feeling of emptiness and isolation, of being stripped of what's most important to us, of being surrounded by dead attempts at something better. It also conveys the very human capacity to feel that we are only pretending to be human.
24x18", oil on canvas