You’re looking at a cosmic sushi rave—Brandon Fisher’s neon dream ripped right out of the collective unconscious and splattered on your wall. Here, fish don’t swim; they warp, they groove, they launch themselves through dimensions where geometry has parties and color has its own gravitational pull.
There’s a golden fish, all scales and attitude, sliding through a circuit-board river of acid pink and electric blue. The eye pops—alive, alert, like it knows all your secrets and is only pretending to keep them. Fractal fins morph into alien hieroglyphs, and even the shadows are high-fiving each other in the corners.
Everywhere, the boundaries bend: color leaks, shapes twist, logic packs its suitcase and books a one-way ticket to Nevermind. Pink portals and cryptic symbols pulse at the edges—part emoji, part magic spell—watching you as much as you’re watching them.
Top left: fish within fish, a psychedelic inception, shimmering and sly, daring you to look closer until you’re not sure who’s tripping—them or you. The black-and-white vortex splits the scene, a current dragging your gaze into the wild unknown.
Down below, a face emerges—melting, laughing, caught mid-eureka or mid-madness, you decide. This isn’t just a painting; it’s a mirror for the state of mind that only happens when the world gets strange, and you lean in instead of looking away.
Brandon Fisher signed it bottom left, but honestly, this piece feels unsigned—like it signed you, marked your retinas, rewired your sense of what’s possible. Hang it, and the whole room starts to vibe. Stare long enough, and you might not come back the same.
