Liam Devowski lives and works in San Francisco as an Art Director at ad agency Mekanism. His bold colored messages and sharp imagery always have a way of looking at the bright side. One reoccurring motif in his work is the PBS logo with a single tear. This added design element playfully changes the meaning from “Public Broadcasting Service” to “Pretty Bummed and Sad”. Devowski takes pleasure in occasional sadness and uses it to fuel optimistic and enlivened design work.
When I first saw the work of Don Porcella, I found it to be quite humorous, and with a second glance I realized how much detail he puts into each one of his sculptures. Each one is made of pipe cleaners and I find all the different things he chooses to make with them quite creative.
Beautiful/Decay just released seven new designs just in time for Fall! Artists Colin Strandberg, The SickSystems, Ben Tegel, Jessica Hische and Official Classic created some stand-out graphics you have to see to believe!
Philadelphia based artist Alex Lukas is well known for his self described “Disaster Drawings” in which desolate landscapes are presented with striking clarity in ink, acrylic, watercolor, gouache and silk screen on paper. In addition to this body of work Lukas has been producing zines and screen prints through his own Cantab Publishing since 2001. Throughout the years he has expressed his love for comic books via a series of superhero screen prints that present well known characters in a signature style. Some of the work is searing and culturally relevant while others are simple tributes to beloved heroes.
Hm, I almost have no words for the demon-clown-spawn’s new video for the song “Miracles” off their latest album. In the vid, the group ponders the simple joys and inexplicable curiosities of life’s treasure trove…lay down their horrorcore antics, and just float through cheesy galactic space, lyrics, and “fucking rainbows.” SNL made their tribute of course, after the jump.
These sculptures are made from the bones of dead people. The photographic portraits of these sculptures are made by Arne Svenson. What results is Unspeaking Likeness, a strangely captivating series of death portraits, collected here.
For four years, Svenson sojourned from coroner’s offices to law enforcement agencies allover the country, snapping photographs of facial reconstruction sculptures which were built by forensic artists and molded from unidentifiable victims’ skeletal remains, with the intention of resolving crimes.
The narrative hidden behind each “face” is a mystery, and, as viewers, our own hearts tense with sadness when considering each subject’s lurid last moments of life. It’s almost too much; so, we reject the idea of reconstruction in relation to rejuvenation. It feels psychological, how we need to detach. The “face” in the context of Svenson’s portraits are not representative of an emotional life nor physical body; instead, it’s a mask or doll with a troubling echo, seemingly touched by the hands of Frankenstein.
If Raul Gonzalez had a soundtrack to accompany his drawings, it would be a mash up of old Disney movie themes, Death Metal and Mariachi music. It’s a bizarre mix of badass and cute, (cute like a two-year old giving you the finger) all on color splotched and stained pages that make you feel like you’re getting a secret look into Gonzalez’s personal sketch book. You can imagine the free-association process that went into each image, each element building, as if at some point Gonzalez thinks to himself, ‘it would be rad if the chicken was coughing up a human tooth,’ or ‘this guy should have a beat up severed head in one hand and a flaming cigarette in the other.’ And what may look like stains or scribbles reveal themselves to be crucial compositional devices that contribute to the overall success of each illustration. Best of all is the playful freedom: while the characters are often beheaded, impaled, beaten, or in some state of peril, there is always an aspect of humor and joy. Even if it’s the kind of joy some of us got from frying an ant hill with a magnifying glass as kids. Gonzalez brings to mind some of most underappreciated cartoons to hit the glowing screens in American homes, shows like Ren & Stimpy, Beevis and Butthead, and even Itchy & Scratchy on The Simpsons. Shows that are so awesomely gross and hilariously violent they pull at the heart strings of those of us who liked to poke dead things with a stick.
Valerio Loi is a photographer who currently works between London and his birthplace of Cagliari, Italy. In a series of images called Web Popularity Products, Loi envisions a future where online popularity has been turned into physical commodities, just like food at the supermarket. With bright colors and labels stamped with the familiar icons of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Badoo, and LinkedIn, Loi’s “products” sit inconspicuously on store shelves amongst mayonnaise and cans of corned beef. While things like Instagram followers can already be purchased online (although it is often a ridiculed practice), the increasing value of one’s online presence could one day mean we consume simulated “popularity” alongside our processed and over-packaged foods.
“The more social networks are born, the more purchasable services to increase users’ popularity are created,” Loi observes on his project description. “Alongside our physical life based on face to face interaction, nowadays many of us consider . . . online image and networking [to be really important]” (Source). In some ways, Loi’s work displays an anxiety over the current trend of social media that seems to undermine genuine human connections; his other personal project, titled Human Feelings as Drugs, similarly explores this fear of the commodification and loss of our deepest experiences and emotions. However, Loi photographs his Web Popularity Products in a relatively innocent light, allowing the viewers to decide for themselves whether social media will lead to practical transformations of human identities, or the spiritual bankruptcy thereof.