There's something touchingly innocent about Boris Vallejo's work. It is as if he is channeling the fantasies of a 13-year-old boy without shame, guilt or even self-consciousness. It is that rare artwork that is only about itself. It is like a picture that is run through iterative image generation using only the words "hotter" and "heroic" and "mysterious" over and over until an asymptote is reached. It seems pure and innocence in its singular interest, its lack of subtext, if not in its sexual content.