We have paint in our DNA.

We are ministers of the cult of imperfection.

Bad Deal is everything that is below ground, in the basement, in the depths of the human mind, buried deep.

Whatever is unknown isn’t necessarily dark and obscure, it can also be fluorescent.

Bad Deal springs out from the slums of the subconscious, it tears itself apart and rebuilds itself, it gets on a path and walks on its own legs, thinks on its own and comes to life. Never losing its urban soul.

Chromatic aggressiveness, chaos and never ending inputs in a very precarious balance. A stone tossed in the wavy surface of the ocean generating imperfects circles.