That’s not metaphor. The hallway pulsed. Walls of wet, raw muscle contracted around me, lined with eyelashes that blinked in asynchronous terror. I walked for what felt like hours, my shoes squelching on a floor of compacted bone dust. Finally, I emerged into a chamber that was, for lack of a better word, a classroom.
Splatter School isn’t just about making a mess; it’s about Abstract Expressionism —a movement where the splatter school high quality