Croatian photographer Ino Zeljak’s series entitled Metamorfoza highlights peoples resemblances by combining multiple portraits into a single photograph.While we’re all different in our own special way, some of us look pretty similar to one another. Because with over 7 billion people in the world, many people have the same types of facial features, whether we’re related to that person or not. Sometimes it’s genetics while other times it’s just pure coincidence.
Using brothers, best friends, and parents, Zeljak splits the faces in half with Photoshop and expertly places the disparate parts together. Features are lined up and blended perfectly. His handiwork is so subtle that each image is almost indistinguishable as two people. Instead, they look like one slightly unsettling person who has different color eyes or a crooked nose. But all things considered, it’s reveals that we can look so homogeneous that you’d hardly give it a second glance. (Via designboom)
There is something fantastically unworldly yet alluringly familiar about Amy Joy Watson’s bright sculptures. Whether it’s a drooping bow or a glitter-filled orb, this Australian’s artful structures feel like a 1986 birthday party, translated or abstracted by a video game of that same era: there are no soft edges, only the disjointed illusion of it.
To make each piece, Watson stitches or glues together watercolor-stained balsa wood, occasionally adding a tasteful Gobstopper here, or helium balloon there, to garnish her own primal sense of whimsy and sacred geometry, resulting in a somewhat spiritual monument to another imaginative age and time.
Vicki Ling is an artist that creates graphite drawings of surreal landscapes. Chock full of symbolism and mystery, Ling’s images are cryptic. Part of their appeal is trying to solve the visual puzzle that she’s constructed.
Ling briefly speaks about her work, writing, “…fictional landscapes and constructions shift between two and three dimensions, creating a sensation of movement and evolving forms.” The places depicted are liminal spaces, meaning they are in transition, somewhere between what they began as and what they will become. This is made inherent in the movement and tension created by the textures and forms in the work. They are reminiscent of the ocean. We can imagine the crashing waves, tides, and the inhabitants of the sea. There is tension in Ling’s work, and it is easy to feel like at any moment waves will rush in and fill the rooms that she’s so carefully rendered. But, considering Ling’s intent, perhaps she wants an environment that could suddenly be swept away. This notion is refreshing, but also sad knowing that this environment is fleeting.
I am personally intrigued by Ling’s drawing that features a sinkhole. In this image, it looks like the top of the landscape has been punctured. The surface is fragile and looks like it is going to cave in on itself. What would it become? I imagine it to be a black hole, drawing everything in until nothing is left. Or, it could be a portal to another world. The places in Ling’s drawings could exist anywhere. They are surreal and conjure the feeling of a dream, so this could all exist in someone’s head. As the artist spoke of moving and evolving forms, these drawings are all metaphors; not only a shifting environment, but personally as we grow, change, and confront obstacles. If we are willing, we evolve just as Ling’s landscapes suggestively do.
Lauren Utter, a New Jersey native, documents her punk rock inspired, pan-handling, train-hopping adventure filled life through her aggressive yet delicately drafted drawings. Lauren briefly attended the School of Visual Arts, but decided that her experiences outside of the institution’s walls were what truly inspired her.
Every little mark on the surface is stark, rigid, and untamed. Lauren isn’t interested in dressing up her subject for the purpose of comfort or aesthetic. She wants to bring to the audience her encounters exactly as how she found it. Yet upon closer inspection, you are guided to notice the underlying beauty, and appreciate the aggressive approach of Lauren’s work. This is where the irony in her work is present. It is the moment, confrontation, and/ or eye contact captured. The kind of transient situation most of us rarely have the time or guts to pay closer attention to.
Kris Knight’s portraits are presented in such a settled and graceful manner, yet underneath the surface of the subjects in question, he is able to portray various feelings of awe and mystery. Who are these characters who candidly stare back at the viewer? Such hidden emotions are portrayed through a muted color palette and calculated brushstrokes, giving the viewer plenty to look at, yet with a feeling of wanting to know more.
Evelyn Bencicova’s photography is stark and haunting, which could probably in part be attributed to the headless-ness of her subjects in most of her works. The colouring is sterile, and the figures’ body language imitates the stillness of their environment. Although each naked body touches at least one other, there is no sense of sexuality or pleasure. The bodies seem like one larger, unified organism, like some strange jellyfish or starfish. They splay themselves over surfaces, as if they’ve been washed up across the desk they rigidly lie on. They are compelling because although logically you realize you’re seeing a human body, they lack any recognizable aspects. It’s near impossible to feel empathy or understanding without facial features or visible imperfections or distinguishing character. It is especially with so many clones together. The series is an interesting experiment in identifying what defines our living human character.
I want to apologize in advance for making this comparison, but if I’m being completely honest, I’m reminded of the film Human Centipede. Of course, conceptually they are completely opposite, one being completely vile and horrific, the other pleasantly vacant. Still, if the Human Centipede were instead an experimental art film, maybe it would be the Human Starfish, and the film was about a multi-human entity that slowly explored an abandoned hospital or institution, these photos would be the stills. (Via Daily Metal)
Is it semiotics or shamanism? Work that feels both automatic and authentic, eluding formal structures of control with a well-versed hand– Dan Rocca’s drawings perplex even the most learned planeswalker.