Reminiscent of the visual languages of midcentury graphic design, children’s book illustrations, and corporate branding, Math Bass’s paintings are unnervingly poppy. The language consists of cartoonishly pared-down symbols (alligator, cloud, speech bubble, to name a few) with a grammatical structure, but no fixed definitions, so the viewer is left to give up on interpretation. After getting past the initial hurdle of my visual associations to ubiquitous flat vector graphics, I am drawn in by the paintings’ irregularities. The edges of objects vibrate and what appears straight or smooth is wavy and hand-touched. I am also interested in the visual rhymes. Smoke, speech bubbles, and moons bounce around each other, borrowing, and taking forms, space, and modes of rendering. These paintings reward close looking—abstracted leg-like shapes shine, while the rest of the painting is matte. The audio sculpture opens up an otherwise closed vernacular, creating a phenomenological experience of oneself as shrunken in a tranquil and subsequently frightening forest, an element of fantasy that the paintings alone do not provide.