Genur.art

steadman style, A vertical illustration of a terrified patient strapped into a dentist's chair, viewed from a low angle near the foot of the chair looking upward toward the patient's screaming face. The patient is a middle-aged man with thinning hair, his head tilted back against the headrest, eyes bulging out of their sockets, mouth forced impossibly wide open by metal clamps and retractors that pull his lips back to expose every tooth. Tears stream from the corners of his eyes. His hands grip the armrests of the chair so tightly his knuckles are bone-white, fingers digging into the leather. His legs are splayed stiffly straight out. Looming over him from the upper portion of the frame, the dentist's enormous gloved hand reaches down holding a monstrously oversized drill — the drill bit is far too large for a real procedure, descending toward the patient's open mouth with thin lines indicating its spinning motion. Only the dentist's hand, wrist, and the lower edge of a surgical sleeve are visible; the rest of the dentist exists beyond the top of the frame. The chair itself is a smear of bright bubblegum-pink across the middle of the frame, the leather upholstery reading as a viscous saturated mass rather than furniture. The space around the chair is filled with floating circular bubbles or orbs in various sizes — drifting transparent shapes that pass through the air and overlap the patient's body, the drill, and the dentist's hand. The walls of the dental office behind the chair are pale, with vague suggestions of cabinets and a small overhead lamp casting harsh light directly down onto the patient's face. A tray of instruments hovers at the right edge of the frame, the tools jumbled in chaotic disorder.