Ihave a deal with the artist Brady Dollyhigh. I don’t ask where he gets the battered, sheet metal traffic signs he uses as canvases for his paintings. And he does not volunteer the information. I don’t need to know.

Because all of those official “no parking here” and “construction ahead” types of warnings that he recycles somehow, somewhere from the street and covers with oil paint speak volumes on their own about Dollyhigh’s work. There is a reckless daring to his process, a youthful disregard for the usual art world way of doing business, and a desperation to find affordable and meaningful ways to express what is inside his head.

No doubt, Brady Dollyhigh has a very busy head, full of conflict, dreams both good and bad, and the kind of sorting out of personal identity, psychological et

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