Pierce Thiot and his wife, photographer Stacy Thiot, have been collaborating on an ongoing project titled “Will It Beard” wherein the couple test the limits of what a beard can hold. Pierce tells BuzzFeed, “Over Christmas break, my mom had her grandkids do a talent show for her (she’s an adorable grandma). I tried to put as many pencils as possible in it for my ‘talent.’ I got over 20. Needless to say, my mother was very proud.”
Since then, the couple has put dried pasta, flowers, chips, matches, balloons, scissors, and even Mr. Potato Head pieces into Pierce’s beard. Through this playful series, the Thiots prove there is more to beards than just looking cool. You can keep up with the project’s progress on Tumblr and Instagram. (via moarrr)
The above video was created by Adam D. Miller, and was screened at an event at the Hammer Museum Los Angeles.
He battled dinosaurs. He conquered hell. He raped aliens. He cannibalized social icons. He enslaved the human race, and we loved him for it. Yet, the Grim Reaper proved to be one foe that the mighty Oderus Urungus could not defeat. This was a week to remember as Dave Brockie, the lead singer of metal band Gwar, died unexpectedly.
His passing almost seems like the plot of a movie. Gwar had made a healthy comeback and gained a new following of teenage fans with their ever improving last five albums (in my opinion by far the best music they ever made). In 1999 I saw Gwar playing at a relatively small club in northern California after having nearly faded into obscurity, but in 2012 they were playing to a sold out crowd of screaming maniacs at the House of Blues in Hollywood. Only a few months ago they released what ended up being their final album, Battle Maximus (a tribute to another departed scumdog Flattus Maximus, also known as Cory Smoot who died in 2012). They finished a tour in support of the album and then Dave Brockie died. I never thought the singer for a band like Gwar would live to be ninety in a retirement community, but I didn’t expect him to die so suddenly in the midst of being so active.
Athens, Greece-based artist HOPE is well-known for his use of large-format collaged pieces, both in the streets and in the gallery. Taking the ruins of the classical sculptures of his homeland, HOPE returns these images to decaying buildings, using large stickers applied outdoors. Though he found his fame in the streets of Athens, the mixed-media artist has been transitioning towards exhibiting his works more indoors, both in decrepit public spaces and in white-walled galleries. Describing his style of using and remixing classical and recognizable sculpture, HOPE says, “My works are marked by mythology. They are sculptural images inspired from the past with a new aesthetic rule.”
HOPE continues, “What interests me about street art and public art, in general, is that it can exist as a forum/platform for dialogue. We live and think within the public space. When you place an artwork in the public domain, you’re interacting with the public. This makes you think about the public order. You’re given the opportunity to express your opinion politically and sociologically through a work, the longevity of which is determined according to the public opinion… But the main reason I got involved in street art was the feeling that I was creating an anti-monument, a new kind of creative model which escapes private places. Sometimes, when public art is effective, it can even change the world.” (via artnau and yatzer)
For the artist Annette Thas, Barbie is a disturbingly bittersweet symbol of childhood nostalgia and longing; for installation piece “Wave I,” she uses between 3,000 and 5,000 barbie dolls to build a sculptural wave, re-appropriating the doll as a means of translating her earliest memories, scenes which now flood her after returning to Belgium to care for her ill sister. Her sister’s illness, she explains, was related to the childhood they shared, one that was marked in part by the death of her brother.
For the artist, the wave is meant to convey her own relationship to overwhelming memories; it is 4 meters wide and stands at 3 meters tall, forcing viewers to be encased completely within its depths. The piece seems to swell with cascading blond hair, forever caught at the terrifying moment before its breaking. Adding to its realism, Thas chose to exhibit it on the beach as part of 2014’s Sculpture by the Sea amidst the sounds and smells of real waves.
The barbies in the piece, wild hair tangled and stripped of their clothing, do indeed seem ominous, but they are also startlingly sympathetic. They are second-hand toys, once loved but eventually discarded. They have endured a sort of violence, having been scarred by knives and bite marks. Each one has a poignant narrative all her own; one doll simply bears the words “please love me” on her chest. The plastic toys, symbolic of the scores of children who once owned them, are somehow lonesome now, robbed of childhood’s affections. Their demanding presence is urgent and desperate, their blue eyed faces pressing us to remember both the magical and painful bits of our youths. (via Design Boom)
Imagine your favorite teddy bear and or snuggly stuffed animal shrunken down to fit atop your fingertip, and you have the magical creations of Su Ami, an artistic company in Vietnam devoted to creating delightfully miniature crochet animals. The family run business includes only 5 expert craftsman who work to imbue the tiny woven creatures with unique and touching personalities.
Because of the animals’ itty bitty frame, each stitch is noticeable, highlighting the careful handmade nature of the work. In each turn of the yarn, we imagine the delicate movements of human fingers, and each being becomes impossibly precious. Heightening their dearness is the fact that delightful creatures are so easily lost; like microscopic pets, their vulnerability inspires us to cherish them and hold fast to their tiny bodies. In this way, the pieces recall the nostalgic yearning of a child for his toy.
Despite their smallness, each creation has an impressively distinct character. With the slightest opening of the mouth, a gecko exudes a curious and playful attitude; a long-beaked bird stares in awe of her own crochet egg. Two squirrels tell a story, peering up at the sky in unison; similarly, a parent elephant watches over her child, whose plastic button eyes seek approval. A lion turns his head with a poignant frown, as if startled by his own size. All animals great and small, from the littlest snail to the tallest giraffe, inhabit the same magical space, cautiously yet courageously exploring the large world they miraculously inhabit. (via Demilked)
Discontinued film stock has become an obsession amongst fine art photographers, and pretty much everyone else (at least the imitation of it even–think instagram filters). New York-based photographer Daniel Zvereff is no exception. In one of his recent series, Introspective, Zvereff uses some of the last remaining supply of expired Kodak Aerochrome film in 120 format and takes it to the Arctic–a place as endangered as the film itself.
A travel journalist and photographer, Zvereff looks for the picturesque and the mundane- a good mixture of the two brings forth an interesting and stunning collection of photographs from all over the world- including the ones found here, which were taken in very remote parts of the Arctic.
The usage of the expired film showcases brilliantly unusual but beautifully colored mountains, graveyards, and highways in the brief, verdant Arctic summer are stained in otherworldly pinks and purples.
The now discontinued Aerochrome, was originally developed for the military to help them detect camouflage from helicopters: It responds the chlorophyll in plants and reverses green colors into lavenders and magentas and browns into deep blues.
“The Arctic will essentially be the next frontier for mining natural resources, and with a warming climate it’s safe to say it will soon be transformed as we know it, forever, It only seemed appropriate to photograph its incredible natural beauty using a film that is no longer in existence.”
After searching through the deepest corners of the internet pornography universe, the South African mixed media artist Von Brandis blanked out the carnal content in an attempt to reinterpret sexual imagery. The project, titled “Obscene Interiors” somehow heightens the voyeuristic thrust of the erotic images; behind a shield of white, sexual activities become more mysterious and forbidden, forcing the viewer to examine the images with more self-consciousness than the original porn might elicit.
The series also works to redefine the erotic. As blanked-out figures magically flatten and morph into a single two-dimensional being, signs of intercourse and movement disappear. In contrast to the white-out bodies, which often appear to be pasted onto the photographs, the space of the pornography sets do indeed become the “obscene” photographic content, inviting the eye to penetrate their depths. The pornographic subject becomes the interior itself: the cheesy bedding, the slightly parted curtain, a glistening clock radio, a stained rug.
The images, if slightly dehumanized by their alterations, maintain their intense sexual charge; the off-kilter frame suggests movement within the room, an amateur pornographer’s fast and anxious shots. Shadows billow from the white shapes, hinting at the breath, dimension and passions of the human form.
The series, with its censorship, paradoxically becomes more suggestive and uncomfortable. Forced to consider the erotic impulse and visual fetishization, the viewer cannot help but feel awkward about our engagement with the porn. In this way, this powerful piece touches on contemporary debates about the medium: is porn a healthy, natural human activity, or is it objectifying and morally ambiguous? What do you think? (via Lost at E Minor)
Seung Hoon Park’s photographic work is created using strips of 8mm or 16mm film that’s woven together to form larger images. For the series Textus, he depicts well-known and iconic landmarks from all over the world. After the “tapestry” is assembled, Park photographs it using an 8×10 camera to creates a more texturally seamless surface. The result creates cognitive dissonance; We expect it to look tactile, while it only appears flat.
The discolored edges of the film provide a vintage feel to the overall work, as they tinge it in yellows, blues, and generally desaturate all of Park’s landscapes. The smaller images that make up Textus fracture the larger photograph in a way that it appears as a victim of some sort of disaster. They’ve been pieced so that’s almost put back together, but there’s still part of it that’s off and will always remain a little off because of it. (Via Feature Shoot)