Somewhere in some dark, dingy bar where the carpet is more like a smeared goo, and the bartender may accidentally drop his cigarette ash in your beer, Sean Dietrich's creativity is hanging out. His creativity is absorbing the stories of the locals who have worked the factories for 30 years, had their legs blown off in some war, or are just reciting what the drugs are telling them to say after too many years and too many parties. After a while, and many drinks, this creative side calls Sean for a ride (usually at some unholy hour in the middle of the night, or just as the sun's rising), and waits for Sean to pull up so he can slump back inside of his brain. Once back inside of him, Sean sets out to sift through that nights stories that are being relayed to him--twisting and mixing and fleshing out new paintings that bring a vibrant macabre and weirdness to the canvas.