Angela Dalinger‘s work is, well, odd. Characteristically so. The subject matter, which can be violent, morose or sexually-charged, conflicts with her two-dimensional, rudimentary, colorful style– leaving me feeling somewhat peculiar about the whole thing, and at the same time drawn to the idiosyncrasies. In true art brut form, her work seems intentionally unintentional and subversive. I’m left wanting an explanation I know I’ll never get. Or maybe I’ve overthought the whole damn thing and she’s just painting pretty little pictures in a quiet 100-person town bordering a forest.