Monday, November 30, 2009

Lightbulbhead Cometh...

Recently I was moved to play with wire and clay, which I am apt to due whenever those two find their way into my possession. What resulted was a curious little fellow named Lightbulbhead. Being the Christmas season I shall attempt an attempted attempt at being a toymaker and list him for purchase. This dashing chap can be found in Amalthea's Attic, a delightful "boo"tique which is haunted in Mastic Beach:

http://www.amaltheasattic.com/catalog/music-sculpture-plush-lightbulbhead-sculpture-p-937.html







Monday, November 23, 2009

Candy Corn on the Road of Yellow Brick

As most sensible people are aware of, Halloween visited for it's annual haunt not long ago - twenty-three days subsequent, in fact. During that blessed season I am usually moved to create an assortment of leaf-men, or scarecrows, and since this tradition began many years past since the Wednesday before last, scarecrows have been of a particular affinity to me. Of course, the obvious suggestion of being stitched together on a cold, autumnal afternoon being a definite influence upon my emotion, as well as the empathy exhumed by the fondness I have for the brutes, it is of little wonder that among the many wonderful characters in literature I have felt an especial sympathy for the Scarecrow from Oz. This inclination towards fellows of the harvest, and indeed, the many forms of golems in general, thus provoked the illustration below. Again, as with Alice, I tried to include all that was described by the creator of the Oz tales, L.Frank Baum, in the initial book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. I did, however, take the slightest of liberties in my interpretation of the scene I selected for subject, which takes place in the third chapter - the "post" impaling the poor fellow's back has been translated to a small, dead tree. I sincerely hope the authour would not be upset by this, for if the respect I have for Baum and his creations were to be raised any higher, it's head would most assuredly meet with the ceiling, causing it much irritation and discomfort. That being said, the admiration I possess for the Scarecrow and the stories themselves I pray will not be questioned, and the little contribution below to the visual aspect of the enchanting Oz mythos I pray as well may please and delight.





The following is an excerpt from Chapter Three, How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow, from L.Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz -

"Dorothy leaned her chin upon her hand and gazed thoughtfully at the Scarecrow. Its head was a small sack stuffed with straw, with eyes, nose, and mouth painted on it to represent a face. An old, pointed blue hat, that had belonged to some Munchkin, was perched on his head, and the rest of the figure was a blue suit of clothes, worn and faded, which had also been stuffed with straw. On the feet were some old boots with blue tops, such as every man wore in this country, and the figure was raised above the stalks of corn by means of the pole stuck up its back.
While Dorothy was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face of the Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. She thought she must have been mistaken at first, for none of the scarecrows in Kansas ever wink; but presently the figure nodded its head to her in a friendly way. Then she climbed down from the fence and walked up to it, while Toto ran around the pole and barked."

- L.Frank Baum, from "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz."

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Crocodiles and a Room With No Doors

The other morning after having awakened to the sounds of crocodiles playing draughts outside my window, I had a brief mental image of a room madly askew and confining, and soon set myself to inking it as the back of my eyes had beheld it. As with most attempts to capture a thought on paper, I am certain I have neglected details which inhabited the original reverie, but I whit this is the closest I am able to express. I am not altogether unaware of the piece's suggestion of possibly being a self portrait, though this was not the intent. Sometimes a little truth cannot help but confess itself in the creation of a fabrication, especially if that truth is subject to extroverted behaviour, or is in fact, of a very flamboyant disposition.