When my son was younger he’d create art on his LeapPad, which consisted of stamping a digital canvas over and over with balloons or planes or rainbows or whatever. The result was not dissimilar to j-card art of neckline’s neckline III, featuring several layers of the same cloud image at different sizes, sometimes upside down, creating the sense that you’re looking into multiple universes overlapping each other, or at least observing this universe through some kind of prismatic or kaleidoscopic viewpoint distortion field. It’s unbelievably tranquil.
Way, way more tranquil than a bunch of LeapPad stamps on top of each other.
Neckline’s music, an ambient/New Age hybrid cooked up by Robin Guiler, who uses guitars, effects, and synthesizers to billow his artistic vision like cloud upon cloud upon cloud, is just as tranquil. Clouds forever, yessir, that’s it, close your eyes and drift upon them like you’ve always dreamed you wanted to. While you’re engulfed, neckline’s tunes and tones shift and swirl, spiral and stretch, always changing shape but never changing direction. That’s because neckline III is a straight shot to inner peace, a beeline, never wavering, never weaving. It’s inhalable feel-goodery, if it took a physical form: huffing neckline for serenity.
That sounds weirder than I meant it to.
Speaking of weird, I wonder if I can come up with something useful and bizarre on that LeapPad. Or at least approximate the peacefulness of this cover somehow. I’ll have to dig around for it later.
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