If Skinner is anything like his art, he's always trying to figure out where his next burrito is coming from. He bums smokes off cab drivers, knows where to buy weed, and grinds curbs behind the gallery before his shows open. A skater-punk genius, is what we're getting at; someone who just doesn't just rewrite the rules he doesn't realize there are rules. Of course, this is all fiction: We know nothing about Skinner, but his dizzying, lowbrow art is so evocative of a time and place it's as though he's sitting behind us in class, doodling his mayhem, a hash pipe stuck in his sock, Slayer streaming from his headphones and they are exquisitely accomplished doodles, albeit ones that would have him on regular visits with the school psychiatrist. He starts with some monster-y business, adds some demon-y business (with maybe some occult or mythological business), then adds some more of both, and finishes by adding much, much more of everything. A shotgun blast of wildly colorful, evilly things, with that crazy skill just under the surface. He can completely take over a gallery, making us all feel like we, too, once sat the back of the class, line-drawing skulls on a notebook, getting ready to scrape resin during break. In "This Fear You May Know," he loads the walls with large-scale paintings, sculptures, and airbrushed masks. No one gets out alive.