Shudder.

The last day in Paris. Me and Clare dashed into town to see a just opened exhibition of 'outsider' artist Henry Darger's work.
He was deemed uneducatable and spent his childhood in various institutions for the feeble minded until he escaped at 16 and survived by doing menial dishwashing/janitorial jobs. He lived a reclusive life and unbeknownst to anyone, wrote a 15,000 page novel between 1915 and about 1930. Around this time he created hundreds of collages as aides to the story which he kept hidden in his tiny rented room.
From 1930 to 1973 his main work began, which consisted of hundreds more accompanying works on paper, and a sequel to the book. All this was only discovered by his landlord once Henry had asked to be moved to a nursing home where he died within three months.
The painting in the photo struck a chord with me, it reminded me of a game we played in the sports hall at school while waiting for our turn to play 5 a side. We would slide into the centre hole of an upright rolled up gym mat and then get pushed over with just our heads poking out. I happened to get pushed over when i was only half way in and fell face first with a splat and knocked my teeth out.
I wouldn't recommend doing that but would wholeheartedly recommend an investigation into Henry Darger's incredible world.