Inside the head of Joseph Olisaemeka Wilson is a winding maze, the walls covered in earthy clay, mandolin music rippling from speakers unseen. It is a place where he can cruise, eyes open wide to both the joys and horrors of life. When there is joy, he can question the origin of that happiness, how it manifests within the body and moves its way through. In the face of horror, he stands defiantly, bearing witness to its existence and unafraid to perceive the truth. The maze in Wilson’s mind turns to farmlands that, in time, turn into warfields, then into fairs hosting traveling Americana bands and nomads of the like. The art is a practice made up of his daily…