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Ted Mathys. Forge. 2005. 93 pp.

I've never liked this book, try as I might. It is very, very good; Mathys has impressive chops, but his aesthetic leaves me cold. He puts things in where I would leave them out. Belonging to the "more is more" school, he never seems to reject anything that has occured to him, and often takes too long to explain himself. The detritus in his head is certainly impressive in its colors and textures, but to me it's not particularly compelling.