What is it with the work of the Japanese artist Miroco Machiko (1981)?
It seems willingly 'clumsy', the shapes dictated -and hampered- by the size of the paper.
Almost as if she wants us to think it was drawn by a child, and I don't like that, it would seem like a mannerism, a trick.
But at the same time I am attracted to it, not (just) for its charming naïveté, but also the rich colours and yes, the composition.
The work is less random than it appears at first glance.