Scott Mutter makes old-school photomontages often juxtaposing different scales or contexts of familiar objects. They hint at a familiar unreality that takes form only in dreams and emotions.
I have a 1996 calendar of his stuff that I'm about to get rid of. In looking back through it, the only notes I find seem fictional. There's a driving trip to Pheonix outlined that I never made. (I flew). There's a note about sending my undergraduate thesis materials back to the university for publication. I never saw them again. The rest of the days are blank except for the moon phases. Another familiar unreality.