Jan 15 2012

#260 Less is More (15)

From Lisa in Nottingham, England

A special thanks is due to Lisa for submitting these photographs of her own fantastic wolf sculptures. This occasion marks another first for the WBS project and also helps to stretch the boundaries of the art which this unique collection boasts.

“People compose for many reasons: to become immortal; because they want to become a millionaire; because of the praise of friends; because they have looked into a pair of beautiful eyes; or for no reason whatsoever.”

 ~ Robert Schumann

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Jul 10 2011

#71 “Beyond Words”

From Owen in Cambridge, England.

Sometimes an artistic work comes along that is lightyears beyond what any audience would have anticipated and completely revolutionizes the art world as we know it. These works are so rare, so special, so groundbreaking and important, that they often possess the power to bring people to tears but also drive others to the point of madness. So… feast your eyes on this post if you dare, for today I deliver unto you just such a work.

Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the sketch that will define the euphoric dreams and worst nightmares of an entire generation. I give you the brainchild of a man in the twisted throes of a beautifully artistic seizure. I give you the bastard love-child of Salvador Dali and Dr. Seuss, of Andy Warhol and Where’s Waldo?, of Alan Moore and Jackson Pollock.

I give you… the elegantly disturbing artwork of a man simply known as Owen.

What dark reaches of his brain was Owen forced to explore in order to bring about a piece with such a unique perspective on the wolf? In what realm of surreality did he delve? Did he perhaps wade too deeply in the swamp of a perverse imagination? Examine this work and dare to decide for yourself. Before you lies a world of mechanized madness, of nerdy wolf octopi, of creatures beyond description, of things which cannot be believed and hitherto have not been conceived.

It is yet unclear what the history books of tomorrow will share regarding this revolutionary artwork of today, but I challenge you this: remember this hour, remember the moment that you laid eyes upon this freak of the art world, so that years later as your grandchildren gather at the feet of your hovering jet-powered rocking chair, you will be able to tell them of this momentous day, the day you first made contact with the work of Owen.


Jun 3 2011

#34 “TEAM WOLF”

From TEAM WOLF in London, England.

I first want to apologize for the length of this post. I know it is incredibly long, and for that I am sorry.

Moving on…

The above picture is a very early one that I received via email from a group of acquaintances in London who have now become known as TEAM WOLF. These four individuals make up a sort of modern Fantastic Four. They are a diverse group with an unusual variety of individual backgrounds. In the past couple of months I have learned quite a bit about this fanatical foursome through an ongoing correspondence that has been extremely insightful and enlightening. What I have detailed below are amazingly accurate biographies of these unique characters that are responsible for the artwork above. In truth, I have found these characters so fascinating that I believe their identities must be shared with the world. I am presenting these biographies without their permission or endorsement, but I assure you that they are absolutely true.

Maddie: a.k.a. “Evil Maddie”

Maddie was the mistaken love child of a troubled Mexican-American Vietnam War veteran and a native London confectionary shop owner. Her father, Jorge Osvaldo Ramirez, received the news that he had been drafted at the age of 18 while he stood complacently making fry-bread in his family’s trailer in Rio Rancho, New Mexico. Upon hearing the news, a mild look of bewildered curiosity flashed across his countenance, and he simply walked out of the trailer, tromped down the rickety wooden steps and strolled out of his family members’ lives forever. After being awarded 3 Purple Hearts (2 for leg injuries and 1 for a bit of shrapnel lodged firmly in his left cheekbone), he was honorably discharged from the U.S. Military but chose not to return home. Instead he traveled Asia and Europe as a migrant worker specializing in small engine repair, falsifying documents, and training roosters for illegal cockfights. It is rumored that Ramirez once penned a memoir entitled The Hellish Hero under the pseudonym Pablo D. LaRocha which detailed his little-known and extremely secretive missions in Laos during the war. Popular consensus is that the U.S. government had the man assassinated in fear that he would divulge too much information about his country’s most furtive wartime missions.

Anyway, when he stumbled into a young lady’s confectionary shop called “The Decadent Deli” in the summertime roughly 5 years after his discharge, he locked eyes with a woman whom he knew he could not live without. She was tall, blonde and slender, and her eyes spoke of a silent pain that was both beautiful and mysterious; there was an instant connection. The two spent a romantic summer holed up in the woman’s apartment, eating dark chocolate truffles and making love until Ramirez once again denied himself of the happiness of a family that he did not believe could be real and abruptly disappeared. He left only a note that read: “My dearest one, Your lips are as sweet as the chocolate that drips from your fingertips. I will never forget you.”

Shortly after this, Maddie was born, but she was no ordinary child. She possessed a sense of hearing that was beyond that of any normal human. It is believed that this was a result of the genetic makeup of her father who was able to fire large artillery weapons during the war without the slightest repercussion combined with the keen ear of her mother who had always had perfect pitch and had been an accomplished cello and harpsichord player in her youth. Maddie felt ostracized by her gifted hearing ability as a child but soon used it to her advantage during a short stint as an undercover officer for the London Police. It was her efforts, in fact, which foiled the little known attempt on the Prime Minister’s life in 1999. However, after surviving 4 bullets to the abdomen during a drug deal gone awry in 2007, Maddie put her skills to more a practical but equally fulfilling use and now specializes in developing assisted hearing technology for the hearing-impaired of the world today.

Mike: aka “Mike of the Jungle”

Contrary to what his name might suggest, Mike is not a sort of “Mowgli” character out of something along the lines of Rudyard Kipling’s famous novel The jungle Book. Nay, Mike’s unusual moniker is in fact a reference to the urban jungle that often surrounds and defines his interesting line of work. As a child Mike saw his father lose his position as a high ranking corporate executive for one of Stockholm’s leading snowboarding companies, Alpha Snow. According to legend, Mike’s father was the man who coined the slogan “Snow: it’s our thing” for Alpha Snow in 1984 when the company was just beginning to make a name for itself. Shortly after this, however, because of his embarrassing lazy eye and penchant for slightly off-color jokes, Mike’s father was released from his position and Mike and his family were forced to scrounge for food in the stinking alleyways of Stockholm’s slums. Clutching a maggot-infested turkey drumstick in his tiny clawed hand and crouching in the corner of an abandoned Stockholm sewage plant, Mike vowed revenge upon the man who had disgraced his father and his family.

Through an odd turn of events a few years later, Mike caught the eye of an “entrepreneur” by the name of Eli Cody while his family was performing cheap carnival tricks for money on the streets of Segovia, Spain. While his family juggled pins and knives and all manner of other objects, Mike would make his way through the crowd, pick-pocketing as he went. When Mike shuffled up along side Cody, the man snatched the young lad’s hand and drug him away from the crowd. “Follow me,” he said, “and you will no longer be forced to live this life of disgrace.” Doubting the stranger’s outlandish offer, but being too alarmed to resist, Mike ran away and accompanied Cody to Bejing where the old gentlemen taught Mike the fine art of covert assassination. Yes, that’s right, Mike is a trained, professional killer, but not of government officials or international terrorists. Given his horrendous childhood and the pain inflicted upon him by pompous corporate pigs, Mike bills himself as a gun for hire specializing in facilitating mutually beneficial corporate deals by eliminating troublesome CEOs and business tycoons. In short, he’s a corporate assassin. Unnamed sources have divulged that for years he has longed to leave the business, for the blood on his hands has simply become too thick with guilt. However, he still has one final target- one last trigger to pull: the one that will eliminate Adrian Rutger, former CEO for Alpha Snow.

Jeremy: aka “Jez”

Born into a life of privilege, Jeremy spent summers vacationing and “working” at his grandparents’ vineyards in France: the famous Madirian vineyards. With a wine bottle sloshing violently in each fist, Jeremy whiled away the time by stomping grapes in gigantic wooden vats to the catchy sounds of French pop music blasting away on a small transistor radio. As the light gradually faded in the west and the last dying embers of the sun stretched her fingers out into the darkening sky, Jeremy would prop up his purple-stained feet and watch the carloads of young women approach his personal wing of his grandparents’ estate. The nights there were filled with cries of ecstacy; the excess of pleasure was beyond description. Countless children were fathered out of wedlock. It was a life that some consider a myth: Hedonism at its finest. However, as is often the case, the excesses of youth often lead to a sobering adulthood, and by the time he was 22, Jeremy had decided that fulfilment did not reside in the flesh but in the spirit. He traded his wine bottles for a staff and his purple-stained feet for ones that were coated with sand and mud. In a desperate attempt to find inner peace, Jeremy set out to walk the entire coastline of France in order to seek a deeper meaning to life.

Eleven months later, having nearly completed the 2000 mile journey and finding only loneliness and despair, Jeremy’s frustration got the best of him and he angrily kicked at a discarded football (soccer ball) that bobbed along in the calm summertime surf. The ball, deflated as it was, soared through the air with speed and grace, and sailed smoothly between the pillars of a distant pier. And with that, Jeremy had found his calling. He had not known it at the time, but his years of grape-stomping had prepared him for a career as one of Europe’s most prominent athletes. Knowing that success was eminent, Jeremy changed his name to avoid the staggering costs of child support and soon moved to England. Before long he was the most talented player in the UK, and to this very day he still celebrates each victory with a smooth glass of wine straight from Madirian vineyards.

The Last Smuggler: true identity unknown.

Little is known about this mysterious character, but rumor has it that he spent his youth sailing the Caribbean on a small yacht captained by his lesbian mother of strong Jewish descent, delivering packages of cocaine and heroin to island drug lords. At the insistence of his domineering and tyrannical mother, the Smuggler’s childhood was spent in quiet isolation away from other youths, and as a result he became accustomed to reading mounds of intellectual literature written by some of history’s greatest philosophers. Nietzsche, Plato, Aristotle, Kierkegaard, Blake… The Smuggler read them all and digested all of their ideas until he was positively bloated by the works of these great minds. However, rumor has it that in a not-so-unforeseeable error, the young lad accidentally concocted a devilishly sinister Kool-Aid punch brimming with cocaine instead of sugar. Needless to say, this is the day that changed the Smuggler’s life. While still an intellectual marvel, this elementary-aged drug binge cost the man his ability to concentrate on a single subject for more than seconds at a time, and now he is regarded by many as a sort of mad genius. Like the Summoner from some modern and demented Canterbury Tales, he is a man filled with knowledge but resides in a deranged and twisted state of mind. Some say he killed a man with a plastic fork for talking to loudly at a motion picture show. Others claim to have seen him at a pub in London’s trendy east end devouring dishes of nothing but Worcestershire sauce and ketchup. Some say he occasionally impersonates Jimmy Buffet with great success, while others say he claims to be a lesbian living in a man’s body. Still others merely report him as being beyond any description or definition whatsoever. Who (or what) is this modern marvel? The world may never know.