"I'm not getting rid of the monsters," Royce calmly told me at the opening, after I gasped in monster-like exasperation of the very thought of the possibility.

The ghosts are a better subject for canvas, he explained. "The monsters are more for the streets."

The ghosts never seem entirely carefree, though. One fishes in darkened water. Another skates precariously off an edge. Another is merrily jumping off a hopscotch plank.

Tiny skulls bobble around some ghosts. Each skull is a conscience, an uneasy reminder of some unknown concern.

The ghosts seem more tentative than the monsters, but they have to be in their circumstances, I s'ppose. The monsters have 'tude, fighting for your attention in the busy streets. The ghosts drift across expansive planes of their personal solitude.

Surviving in the streets is one thing; outrunning the inner-conscience is another battle altogether.