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Becoming unglued from the ivory façade and embracing the places in society that rarely see the light of day, the members of Small Flowers are transforming mire into baby making poetry. Inspired by all things boom bap, salient, and subterranean; the opaque faces that comprise Small Flowers have punctured the collective western ventricle and vigorously documented the flotsam.
While the exact history of this collective is best depicted on dimly lit cavernous walls, one can infer from the shape, color, and depth of markings a distance, struggle, and tinge of ether. After a wider, more liberal examination, the etchings reveal a synthesis of post apocalyptical landscapes interrupted by analog mirages and barbarians mercilessly pounding the gate of the grand apparition.