habitat

The Dying Slave

2011-11-07T23:36:00.001-06:00

graphite on paper

Wounded 1917

2011-08-16T14:23:00.004-05:00

graphite on paper

"Boy Wearing A Helmet III"

2011-08-16T14:16:00.002-05:00

graphite on paper

"Boy With An Eagle"

2011-08-16T14:15:00.000-05:00

graphite on paper

new drawing

2011-01-31T00:10:00.000-06:00

Boy With A horse
graphite on paper

Boy With A Rope

2011-01-10T23:01:00.000-06:00

graphite and vine charcoal on paper;
23 x 30"

VIEW IT LARGER:
HERE

the song i listened to over and over while drawing this:
HERE

Plan B

2010-12-12T02:56:00.000-06:00

it didn't happen according to plan. i didn't mean for this to happen. i hadn't planned for this to happen. i didn't have a plan. i wanted something to happen but not this. i wasn't happy yet.

saurus

2010-12-05T03:23:00.000-06:00

in the prehistoric, it's dead already
long neck with oyster eyes
cold brains and acrid thighs
that burn

i did a new drawing

2010-11-19T19:00:00.000-06:00

"Boy With Scissors"
graphite on paper
15 x 22"

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new drawing - Boy With A Wound

2010-08-03T18:02:00.000-05:00

graphite on paper
15 x 22"

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nightmare

2010-08-01T12:32:00.000-05:00

I am in a bed, not my bed, in the dark and I hear this raspy moaning coming from under the bed. It turns to whimpering then some sputtering like some sort of pathetic death rattle.
I am scared out of my fucking mind, wide eyes, reaching out fumbling for a light switch. I find it and flip it, and suddenly it's day time and this bed is in the middle of a forest which is a little too quiet and a little too still. No noises from under the bed. I leap out and find a stick. There are thick ferns growing under the bed so I can't see a thing so I poke under there with a stick. Something soft and fleshy and it cries out. Oh shit. I am in there parting ferns and it starts to smell like...old shit, piss, dead birds, something. A face, a human face, green eyes wide open and watery. Grab armpits and pulllll and pull. I pulled out a boy, like 14 or so, naked and very skinny, brunette, longish matted hair. Oh my god he stinks. He is caked in dirt and blood and old shit, I think. His eyes are wide open in the sun but he doesn't blink. There are tiny ants packing eggs in the corners of his eyes, traversing his wet eyelashes and falling splat and writhing around the vitreous humor like they are mammoths trapped in tar. His hair is churning with maggots, eggs fall out when his head flops to the side and he lets out a sigh like he's choking. He has a gaping wound in the side of his neck and I can see to the bone and puss is bubbling up like magma. It is so shiny and tight and full of ants that spill out when the boy coughs. Maggots are all over his skin. Holy fuck I am thinking. I start frantically searching for a phone. I rip apart the bed, look under rocks, tear plants up from the ground. He is lying there shaking and I am panicking. I am thinking I need to call the police. A hunter in flannel comes bouncing by with a huge rifle looking really happy. "Do you have a phone?" I am screaming.
"I'll put it out of its misery."
"NO let me use a fucking phone."
He gives me his cell phone which is pink and encrusted with rhinestones. "Sworavski crystals," he says, grinning. I have a hard time finding the buttons and cannot figure out how to dial and I am hyper-ventilating. The hunter says "Let me do it, cunt....They want to talk to you."
ok.
The dispatcher says, "We know about this kid. Will you take responsiblity for him and pay his medical bills?"
"yes, just please help!!!"
"Will you die for him?"
"What?"
"Will you die for him?"
I drop the phone out of disgust cus it is slippery and wet and covered in...pus? I turn around to look at the boy and instead there's a brunette toddler poking at a dead bird that has been there for at least a week. I am shaking my head so violently that I wake up shaking my head.

new drawing again

2010-07-25T19:18:00.000-05:00

"Boy Wearing a Helmet II"
graphite on paper
12 x 22"

VIEW it LARGER DAMNIT

peace.

I did another gaddamn drawing. shit.

2010-07-19T19:59:00.000-05:00

"Bacchus"
graphite on paper
15x22"

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I did another fucking drawing: Teen Boy Gay Sex II

2010-07-12T15:04:00.001-05:00

see it larger
graphite, pastel

i did a new drawing

2010-07-09T23:48:00.000-05:00

Gay Teen Boy Sex aka Teen Boy Gay Sex

see it larger here

graphite and pastel on cheap paper

random self shit devolutionarcissistarianism pre-agoraphobic, post-outings whislt likely intoxicated

2010-07-08T05:24:00.000-05:00

beer.

2010-07-07T23:40:00.000-05:00

I like lite mexican beer

no i don't like lite mexican beer

i did a new drawing

2010-06-02T17:56:00.001-05:00

"Mit Vogel" graphite on arches hotpress paper

for dennis cooper and alex rose

I did a new drawing - "E"

2010-05-11T22:55:00.000-05:00

acrylic, graphite, graphite powder, oil pastel, water

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contrition

2010-03-08T01:28:00.000-06:00

thicket hides
what wrist binds
chalk and shadow for black and white
shot gun barrel of a coat

but mud awaits
hopeless moat
ungrateful gates for your hair
that falls and fails
to become and bear
your execution

forces

2010-03-02T02:52:00.000-06:00

a rabid heart
boils blood
pools in the lowest parts
jell-o™ and gravy on a tray
lungs eventually succumb

jar of mind
hot skull walls
finger tips are numb
a body undone

Signs of Unkemptitude i.e Upkeeplessness #1

2010-02-07T12:04:00.000-06:00

bed bugs die of toxic shock.

Audrey's foot

2010-01-10T00:48:00.001-06:00

chistmas morning

2010-01-04T00:35:00.001-06:00

The older the stairs get,
the more they sound
like I'm pressing mice underfoot
when I creep down and down
until the wood gives way.

fox

2009-12-05T03:34:00.001-06:00

eye whiskers,
chin whiskers
cheek whiskers
aye
whiskers 'n whiskers
thick whiskers on high

eye whiskers,
chin whiskers
cheek whiskers
aye
whiskers 'n whiskers
young fox will die

M with thorns

2009-11-23T02:09:00.001-06:00

graphite and chalk on paper

new drawings

2009-11-06T03:42:00.000-06:00

in progress..graphite

Jawbone
charcoal on paper

eyes at odds

2009-11-06T01:27:00.000-06:00

All two of my eyeballs grew little arms and legs, grabbed my lids and forcibly popped themselves out of my sockets. One tumbled down onto my desk in a river of goo and the other repelled off my nose using my hair.
They immediately began fighting with each other as to which was the best way to get down off my face. They had high, squeaky little voices despite no mouths. They vibrated. They cursed each other, slapped each other and began fist fighting. One went for a sewing needle, as did the other and they began "sword-fighting", tumbling all over my desk, leaving a gooey trail of vitreous humor until one was finally impaled on a pencil. The other eyeball insisted on having a proper burial for the valor of its fellow eye so we flushed it down the toilet. My surviving eyeball suggested that I wear an eye patch from henceforth.

para la primera muchacha que escribió el diario

2009-11-03T03:05:00.000-06:00

Espero que me caigo abajo las escaleras y me rompo el cuello. Quiero que las escaleras come mi espina dorsal. Nunca quiero despertar. la desesperación despertó porque la vida se come lo, porque porque porque. Quiero morir, quiero matar al tiempo del ti, El Muerto.

Porque la vida porque porque ...y porque.... Quiero morir, quiero matar el tiempo y la vida en lugar del otro...otro otro en una otra vida, oro lindo se convierte en piedra fria.

3 xanax

2009-10-23T03:18:00.000-05:00

In a dark room with 4 cement walls, this girl hasn't had much food (by choice).
She has had 3 screwdrivers, 3 xanax and a lot of pot tonight at the club. Then I carried her home to my downstairs. She ran her hands through my hair, over my cheek, fingers over my nose. She said she liked my nose. We kissed.

Now, the blue paint is dripping down viscous from above, like it's raining vinyl from the ceiling. Fake rain in a basement room where there is no real weather. I think she mumbles; she's been mumbling since I had her. My hair falls in her eyes as I smell her skin.
She looks like I painted her face in turkey grease as I force her neck down down in water against my forearm; my veins like parasite worms strain pulsing with testosterone beautiful. She does what I want.

"I want you to rip off my face and smash it through the TV screen. I want to flush my fingers down the toilet. I want to pound in my skull with a mallet. I want to swallow a swan."

She didn't actually say that but I imagined that she did. She said something.

She can do whatever she wants; say whatever she wants.
Always has.

The water turns her eyes to gel while the blue paint floods her ankles; She floats like a witch. She is closer than I will ever be. I hold her head down to keep her from spiraling off into space. She takes several rasped breaths like a crushed wind instrument. My hand holds her hands, yellow nail polish mustard baked by the sun. Her legs flail until she gets a foothold on my calf muscles. She was a kid left on her own.

Her long hair is black from the water as she rises, her lips are pushing blue. Her irises have turned an old lava brown and the whites of her eyes are red. She glistens bent over the old laundry sink in which I just drowned her. She is naked and limp; she is trying to stand but crumples. Neon light: she is shaking ike a fetus.
I wrap her in an old shower curtain and newspapers.
She is quiet with a delicate breath and tired like the dead.

(to be continued...)

what was it thinking?

2009-10-23T02:58:00.000-05:00

One hot summer day, a certain consciousness wakes up...
it doesn't wake up by opening its eyes
(it doesn't have eyes, for it's a thought)
it wakes up suddenly for the first time
via a flood of energy in the form of sensation, emotion and temperature.
It is fully awake when it realizes that it is conscious.
The consciousness thinks about itself
for 7 days and 7 nights and still has reached no concrete reason as to why it became like this.
It thinks that if it has the capability to become aware, then it has the means to become unaware.
Since being aware has caused it nothing but confusion,
it decides to become unaware.
One hot summer day, a certain consciousness wakes up...
it doesn't wake up by opening its eyes
(it doesn't have eyes, for it's a thought)
it wakes up suddenly for the first time
via a flood of energy in the form of sensation, emotion and temperature.
It is fully awake when it realizes that it is conscious.
The consciousness thinks about itself
for 7 days and 7 nights and still has reached no concrete reason as to why it became like this.
It thinks that if it has the capability to become aware, then it has the means to become unaware.
Since being aware has caused it nothing but confusion,
it decides to become unaware.

Making a choice is thoughtful,
So the consciousness becomes wise.
But that's not what it wanted.
Want and desire caused it more suffering.
So the consciousness then decided that it would stop this desire by consuming all that was confusing around it.
If there is nothing
then its desire to no longer exist would vanish, along with any knowledge that it even existed at all.
A great war of consumption followed, a war that lasted 10,000 years. For so long, the consciousness fought the war until it forgot why it was fighting.
Suddenly this consciousness was left surrounded by ghosts, wanting to know why, desiring to know what was the cause, why they existed at all and what had lead to their confusion.
The consciousness thinks about what this means for 100,000 years.
Making a choice is too thoughtful,
So the consciousness becomes even more wise.
But that's not what it wanted.

wilds

2009-09-21T03:33:00.000-05:00

Was into in the wilds of canada on Lake Superior all last week, and a bit beyond. 543 photos. Waves and waves, birds of prey, lava rocks and more waves. Such a greedy sun, after all.
in the mean time, let's stop here for some old sloppy shit:

Lazarus: oil pastel, sharpies

warning

2009-09-03T19:34:00.000-05:00

slop

2009-08-11T22:03:00.000-05:00

my mind is ruinous slop,
digested by the intestines of time
a silent sigh from an ass possesed
only to inhale and try again
try to push and free an infant made of solid shit
where winds and birds and seas don't exist
only pulp and flies ferment in this pit

Satan plantant des graines

2009-06-24T22:35:00.000-05:00

graphite on paper

Larger

2nd work for a NY show

no youth

2009-05-26T02:22:00.000-05:00

Youth
graphite and oil pastel on paper
12 x 9"

Ivanova II
oil pastel, sharpies
12 x 8

Cut Lip
chalk, oil pastel, sharpies
10 x 9"

had a dream you were farming in your backyard - it was a farm and you were awfully tall - scraping about the dirt building a parking lot for a department store. You and your helpers bricked in a psycho worker and these giant stores erupted out of bed rock via his anger.
I was scampering about in said department stores shop lifting these amazing fucking dresses and coats and ducking into lifts every time security caught onto me and talking them out of it with a british accent. I remember running up marble stairs with a mob running after me. Suddenly, elevators sucked me in and took me back in time about 105 minutes before the complex was done being built so I changed into the first dress I had shoplifted.
Some worker ghost asked me to model for him. His face had a hard time adhering to his bones. I just told him, look...I can't model for you. My face isn't even mine so I ripped it off my skull and gave it to him and he put it on his skull but it was chunky that it fell off and he couldn't help but step on it. He tried to stuff it down a drain in the floor but it clogged. Red water rising up everywhere.
All this blood pooled in this classy 1920s hotel lobby.
Elevator opened and I slid in on my own blood like a boy on a skate board.
open on a boy's swimming lesson in an olympic diving pool. I am in a couture dress. I dive and as my head hits the water, I see dead drowned children everywhere, but when I come up for air, the blue pool water is clear.
I go under again and follow the drain in the pool and I end up in the attic of Grey Gardens where the water collects at the top of the attic. I fall on a raccoon and we are trapped in a coffin together. He turns into a the corpse of a boy and my head slams into his rotten guts, his wet ribs snap and his sludge guts fill my mouth, my nose, my eyes, minute bone splinters stab every pore...
My face is buried in a cactus
My dress is covered in dirt.
I just buried a dead body.

dream.

back

2009-05-24T04:37:00.000-05:00

Infernosaurous

2009-05-13T23:42:00.000-05:00

graphite on paper

Larger

1st work for NY show

sparrow

2009-05-03T01:28:00.000-05:00

Bang.
A soft bullet bounces off the window. It's the late afternoon.
Sounds like a muffled explosion. On the cement outside, a small bird with fluttering eyelids is hyperventilating, legs and toes like toothpicks with worms impaled on the end. She's in shock; she's shaking; she just flew herself into my window.
I pick her up. Her cold, shocked body is like a discarded marshmallow.
She fits my palm and lies there dazed for what seems like days.
Her breast is soft. The feathers form a complex weave of air and color that looks like a sky turning from dawn to day.
She's relaxing now so she turns herself over. The multiple browns and white bands on her wings look like hieroglyphics. Her toes are awkward but holding onto the folds of my hand does not bother her.
My scabbed, run down index finger scratches her neck and fluffs her nape and she puffs up into a ball of a bird, each feather rising up like shingles on a roof being blown vertical by a hurricane. She has a white throat sprinkled with tiny thin black feathers. A blaze of bright yellow vibrates above each brown eye dotted with microscopic icicles.
She feels better; she is looking at me and I am looking at her; I can see my ballooned face in her glass reptile eyes. Suddenly, hot wet palm. She's pooped. She's feeling better. She scuttles to perch on my finger.
I begin telling her about Darwin and class struggle and freedom and post traumatic stress syndrome while I shield her from the soft wind with my other hand. She falls asleep.
Afternoon becomes evening and I start walking about the yard. The bird moves with me like I'm a boat on tentative waves and she's the captain.
Hours have passed but she has no intention of leaving.
I bring her close to my face and cup my hand around her and tell her that she should fly away. She puffs up into a ball and closes her eyes. She is warm.
I carry her over to a crab apple tree and whisper to her that she is well enough to be done with me. I peel the toes of her right foot off my finger place them on a branch. I do the same with the toes of her left foot. She scoots up on the branch and I stroke her breast with the tips my fingers.
I say I love you; I tell her I love her. I run inside to wash her shit off my palm. I run back outside. She is gone; the white throated sparrow.

note: this photo is a fine example of a white throated sparrow; I don't know who took the photo.

cannibal

2009-04-16T14:02:00.000-05:00

oil pastel, sharpies

I found Him

2009-04-15T16:30:00.001-05:00

all

2009-03-23T01:05:00.000-05:00

pencil on paper

show

2009-03-12T14:22:00.001-05:00

my drawings and two sculptures at the opening of "Femme Fatale" show at The Instinct Gallery in Des Moines, Iowa. www.instinctgallery.com
I got the show cus the director saw my sculptures on Juxtapose.com reader art.

two more
here
and here

the actress

2008-12-31T21:35:00.000-06:00

Me is my own home grown neurosis. After absorbing popular culture and human history for so many years, my mind spits fourth some dirty, twisted creatures like a sponge soaked with piss being stomped on by a fucking elephant.
It's all a matter of translation and volition.
happy new year.

mouse

2008-12-01T17:36:00.000-06:00

graphite on paper

look at it larger

show

2008-11-17T22:23:00.000-06:00

GSW to the face, 1918

2008-11-07T14:56:00.001-06:00

graphite on arches hotpress paper
16 x 25"

look at it LARGER

man with a blanket

2008-10-27T17:43:00.001-05:00

graphite on arches hotpress paper

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tort ports

2008-10-22T13:13:00.000-05:00

drawings of Audrey

5 girls

2008-09-28T15:03:00.000-05:00

My 5 life size sculptures in a collection I call Pygmania!:

The interplay between the grotesque and the beautiful operates at the heart of my work as I explore timeless juxtapositions and identity constructs in culture, art, and history while creating a stunning, intense and deeply personal image.
Based on my reveries and drawings, five iconic female figures emerge- constructed out of oil paint, wigs, jewelry, clothing, fabric, foam and plastic on fiberglass mannequins, utilizing an array of mediums to flesh out the finest details of each sculpture and bring them to life.
I want to delve into the modern female identity and express it in such a powerful way that it sears, haunts and bewilders like the memory of an encounter with a ghost or a god.

photographs by patrick kelly

Anatomarie in The Autopsy Dress

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Cherenkhova is sick

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Doris

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Edie as The Broken Girl

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Queen Elizabeth the I is The Prince

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Elizabeth the I is finished

2008-09-09T16:02:00.001-05:00

Cherenkhova is finished

2008-09-09T16:01:00.001-05:00

16

2008-08-20T01:55:00.001-05:00

16
Originally uploaded by glands

17

2008-08-20T01:54:00.001-05:00

17
Originally uploaded by glands

rock lichen

2008-08-16T01:55:00.001-05:00

Ontario, Canada

11
Originally uploaded by glands

trunk on fire

2008-08-16T01:54:00.001-05:00

15
Originally uploaded by glands

setting sun; Ontario, Canada

a tiny wave of Superior

2008-08-16T01:51:00.001-05:00

Kama Beach, Ontario, Canada

30
Originally uploaded by glands

moon rise over Kama Bay

2008-08-12T14:20:00.001-05:00

moon rise
Originally uploaded by glands

1/2 the view from the porch.

Loon

2008-08-11T13:18:00.001-05:00

Loon
Originally uploaded by glands

Cladonia diversa

2008-08-10T21:35:00.001-05:00

Cladonia diversa
Originally uploaded by glands

Pixie Cups

Cladonia Diversa

2008-08-10T16:06:00.001-05:00

Cladonia Diversa
Originally uploaded by glands

cup lichen aka "Pixie Cups"; Ontario.

Queen of the Jumping Spiders

2008-08-10T15:19:00.000-05:00

Phiddipus Audax 1, originally uploaded by glands.

"The Audacious Jumping spider". I met her in Ontario and fell in love.
She is so beautiful. I named her Miss August. We spent a lot of time silently studying each other and I greeted her every day. She had one of her children following her around. I miss her.

her baby, a juvenile:

Queen Liz

2008-07-25T01:31:00.000-05:00

she is almost finished but I just had to share.
Long live the queen.
Be sure to behold her tiny ermine pet.

impromptu arachnid surgery

2008-07-10T17:06:00.001-05:00

Today I was out with Audrey in the sun and I got totally distracted by a little black wasp that stung a fuzzy spider twice its size. Then the wasp dragged it around until it found shelter in some weeds and laid a tiny, white egg on the spider's abdomen. Then the little bitch buzzed off.
I picked up the spider. She was still alive but paralyzed. Her sweet, numerous little black eyes glistened in the sun. Poor girl. With a tiny stick, I tried to pick the little egg off her abdomen but it was terribly stuck. I didn't want to hurt her. After 20 minutes of picking at it, the egg finally popped off. She was coming out of paralysis. I pet her soft, safe abdomen and set her down in the shade. Soon, she scampered off. She will not a die a slow, painful death due to a parasitic wasp larvae devouring her slowly from the inside out.
Little Black Wasp kept coming around after that. Was she worried about her egg? Did she know I thwarted her efforts to procreate? Hey, a girl's gotta lay - death will be involved.

Miss Carcinogen 2008: Cherenkhova

2008-07-07T23:58:00.000-05:00

dusty girl

2008-07-05T02:20:00.001-05:00

My crumble face, after a hay lunch:

crumble bug

A Tortoise in Two Parts

2008-06-25T01:28:00.000-05:00

Girl Of The Year

2008-06-21T02:14:00.000-05:00

Rivers flood and pulse and rage
while we bang all day on her cage.
The waves grow and groan and growl.
Our subconscious is on the prowl.
The water rises and rushes and fuses
to her face, immune to such abuses.
The mud gushes and flushes in shallows
down her throat in dirty hallows.
Tiny lungs so full of slaughter,
I have drowned my only daughter.

happy father's day

2008-06-16T02:39:00.001-05:00

Fathers abandoned their sons
until their sun exploded.
Then the fathers devoured their daughters.
Their sun had won.

Doris is finished.

2008-06-09T17:09:00.001-05:00

click to see a larger view

Details not seen on my shitty camera include some dirt, booze stains, cigarette burns and dust. She reeks of cigarette smoke. ha ha.

Cherenkova in progress

2008-06-02T00:36:00.000-05:00

pthalo blue, pthalo blue-green and flake white oils on foam, wood, upside-down dead bonsai, whore heels, and fiberglass
hahaha

Audrey is growing!

2008-05-29T15:03:00.000-05:00

Edie

2008-05-25T02:56:00.001-05:00

Doris's head finished

2008-05-24T00:52:00.000-05:00

annie

2008-05-12T21:53:00.001-05:00

annie
Originally uploaded by glands

I had to TOTALLY and COMPLETELY redo her chest plate and lapels because a.) they SUCKED and b.) The grain of the raw silk on the lapels was going the wrong way and did not match up with one another.
It looks like I did nothing from shit photos but I busted my ass again over seemingly nothing. Same old story, right? Plus I added the neck ruff, made her choker out of the raw silk and added red tulle over her ribcage cus they were too TA-DAH, LOOK AT MY PAPER RIBCAGE!!!

I LOATHE these sculptures, I am SO SICK OF THEM. want them to burn in hell for all eternity.

dream

2008-04-28T00:55:00.001-05:00

oddly, my dead family was reunited for chistmas and a package was delivered for me from you which I was expecting. It was a blizzard and it was delivered via a giant, shiny black horse with the crinkled yellow envelope crushed in his teeth. In it, there were multiple cutouts of snake heads glued to soldier's uniforms in place of human heads which you had made into a full deck of cards. Also, there were teeny tiny, dollhouse-sized, glass bottles of barbecue sauce, olive oil, vinegar and mustard which leaked and made the deck of cards puckered and stained. Your letter was written in Times Font printed in gold dust on a clear sheet of plastic. The sentences were fragments you've written, signed "Rasputin". The gold dust stuck to everything in the package, covered in barbecue sauce, olive oil, mustard and vinegar stains. There was also a small velvet pouch of spices and horse hair. I held the letter up and blew on it and the gold dust flew about and formed a cloud that settled everywhere in sight and covered my entire family, bustling with anger, and rendered them motionless like statues.

anatomarie progress

2008-04-27T18:21:00.001-05:00

ribs made out of paper pulp. The dissection flaps are red, raw silk and velour, ripped velvet interior designer fabric. The muscles will be made of the same velour, but will conceal the flaps that attach the lapels. The intestines attach directly underneath the ribcage and spill forth. Her dress is a prom dress I cut up which looks 30s pin up, starts under the ribs as well, with the lapels on top.

the silk intestines

I hired PK to professionally photograph them in July. yay.
done in a month, I insist. So tired.

progress

2008-04-15T02:57:00.001-05:00

Thorny Devil lizard - Moloch Horridus

2008-04-14T12:53:00.000-05:00

Thorny Devil lizard - Moloch Horridus, originally uploaded by pojic.

Thorny profile, originally uploaded by melskyw.

SO CUTE SO CUTE SO CUTE> SO CUTE SO CUTE!!!!!!

nattie and her "condition" take shape

2008-04-10T18:07:00.000-05:00

a true story

2008-04-03T15:27:00.000-05:00

It was night. I opened a large, old, splintering door and inside was a run-down, old pub. It had a high ceiling with rotting beams and had probably smelled like mold for centuries. It was lit by one waning lantern by the door which caused all manners of shadows to form and move about the single, cold room. There was a person there who I mistook for one of these shadows until it poured me a beer without making a sound. The figure began to talk in a soft, crackling voice which revealed she was an old woman. She started telling me a story about the young bar maid who used to live and work there. She had red hair and was terribly beautiful. She kept a garden out back which she doted on and loved as if it were her child, but all the plants were artificial, buried like real ones in fresh, wet dirt. Every night, the false garden would get coated in dust and animal fur, so every morning she would lovingly dust off each petal and each leaf of every plant. It took her hours. Then she would rake the heaps of dust into a dustbin, pour it into an old oil barrel and burn it to ashes with the lighter she always kept in the pocket of her apron.
One particular morning, she was dusting like always, humming a sweet little tune. She stopped when she heard a peculiar ticking sound. She turned around to see a small, naked doll marching like soldier straight for her. It had plastic, yellow hair and its body was covered in fresh, wet dirt. It was but a few yards from her when it stopped abruptly. With a loud POP, its head flew off its body and zipped around and around her like a menacing insect. It opened its mouth to reveal row upon row of tiny sharp, shark's teeth. She swatted at it but it was very fast. It flew in and took a coin sized bite out of her arm. She was astonished and covered her wound with her hand. It swooped in again and again, taking little bites out of her hands, her neck, her legs and spitting out the flesh with a "PTOO!". She was fumbling and screaming and bleeding. It bit her through her dress on her back and her breasts, then flew off, spinning in circles, but quickly returned to bite again and again. Suddenly, she caught it, smacking it in her palms. She smashed its little rubber head between her thumb and forefinger as its bloody little mouth continued to chomp chomp chomp at the air and its glass eyes bulged out of their cut sockets. She forced her jaws together in victory until her face became numb. She took out her lighter and held its head over the flame. The melting rubber burned her fingers so she let go. This tiny ball of fire flew straight into her garden, setting the whole thing aflame. She stood there watching in horror, bleeding from numerous tiny gashes, then she slumped to the ground. Everything burned until nothing remained but ashes. Covered in soot and blood, she grabbed up the headless doll body, threw it in the old oil drum and set it on fire. She took the ashes and buried them in the middle of where the fake garden used to be. Days later in that very spot, a real plant sprouted that grew into a giant tree.
The old woman that was telling me this story suddenly got quiet. She started taking off her clothes, piece by piece, until she was naked. She stepped around the bar and walked into the light of the lantern to reveal her wrinkled skin was covered with tiny, round scars. She asked if I wanted to see her tree.

Dad kills 3 children at hotel

2008-03-30T19:27:00.000-05:00

The decomposing possum in the street I've walked by everyday for the last month was finally disposed of; it's gone. It had obviously been hit by a car and was there practically all winter. I was searching for it when I got distracted by a woman walking by carrying a crying baby. On my walks, I always pretend like every suburban house I pass has a long dead, rotting family inside and everyone left alive is finally just too lazy to get rid of the bodies; they don't obscure the serene beauty of the filthy street. As the snow melts, it reveals layer upon layer of trash that had previously been concealed. It's everywhere. The only thing anyone bothered to finally evacuate was the dead possum but all the rest of the trash is still there. Apparently, a dead animal is more offensive to look at than a clump of old styrofoam covered in oil and wet cigarette butts clogging up a sewer drain.

liz

2008-03-26T18:38:00.001-05:00

dree dree

2008-03-21T15:24:00.000-05:00

Here is my girl again, yet again?? yes yes I know, again. The Girl lumbers towards that beeping, welcoming electronic gadget of a camera...but the reflection of herself in the distorted, domed lens eventually repelled her. Apparently, she's had her fill with predictable machines. Smart girl. But alas, there is never too much of The Girl, never enough to capture her essence but merely I offer here yet another expression of the everyday inspiration she gives me, how much she has altered my perception of being human, and for every time I am with her, for every time I sing her a Russian lullaby and she falls asleep and quakes like a warm little lamb in my hands, for every time she acts like a little bitch just by being her stalwart self, and for the 100 million years her folks have stomped and tromped this land into the pulp it is today. She melts my heart like a meager lump of curd in a roaring furnace. There are many symptoms of the disease I have since classified as "Tortosis", and yes, it is contagious. You wanna talk to dinosaurs and ask them their secrets? It's all in her eyes, but she'll never tell.

Audrey sleeps

2008-03-19T03:30:00.000-05:00

Audrey sleeping, originally uploaded by glands.

Doris lives

2008-03-08T02:12:00.000-06:00

It's Doris - the bitter, rich, 1950s divorcée...
The life she banked on is over.
So her anger boils up like magma and erupts out her backbone that cools and hardens once it reaches the surface, creating a whole new landscape of internalized, situational enmity building and building on itself as the years go by like her body is an island splitting itself in two via drifting continental plates. Not even her "Dior" dress will be able conceal her deformities which resemble nothing more than cheap, factory-made Halloween decorations.

Doris's back, originally uploaded by glands.

here are the young women

2008-02-19T03:09:00.000-06:00

Edie is FINISHED!!

2008-02-17T11:56:00.000-06:00

Edie Sedgwick as "The Broken Girl"

only 4 sculptures to go...

skullpture in session

2008-01-30T03:23:00.000-06:00

Edie1_08, originally uploaded by glands.

Edie1_08_2, originally uploaded by glands.

anatomarie1_08, originally uploaded by glands.

Cherenkhova1_08, originally uploaded by glands.

M as the grey ghost (12/07)

2008-01-20T05:25:00.000-06:00

on her film shoot....

Frida

2008-01-20T05:00:00.000-06:00

te amo, la fridita, agradezca a dios que la pequeña cucaracha hermosa tiene los labios para hundir el sol.

Audrey

2008-01-20T03:21:00.001-06:00

Audrey 1
Originally uploaded by glands

my true love

Audrey 5
Originally uploaded by glands

Audrey 6
Originally uploaded by glands

Audrey 3
Originally uploaded by glands

Sass

2008-01-14T04:57:00.000-06:00

The face of War

2008-01-06T02:04:00.000-06:00

The Great War: World War I, 1914-1918:
Europe was transformed into a giant black hole of a battlefield where the ability of the military technology to destroy far exceeded that of medical science to repair. The result was total carnage, even amongst the living soldiers. The damage done to the human body by these new war machines was unimaginable. The wounded were seemingly mangled beyond repair, the likes of which had scarcely been seen by medical personnel. More than 20,000 of those wounded had facial injuries.

The officers had a hard time explaining the concept of a machine gun or the power of an artillery shell to young soldiers who hadn't seen them. A soldier might stick his head out quickly to peek over the trench wall and get his nose shot off, or his chin or his cheek or his eyes and so on. This was a common occurrence on the front. Doctors had no idea how to deal with this swell of facial injuries.

A portrait by Otto Dix

These soldiers were called "The Men with Broken Faces" or "gueules cassées". There were so many of them during and after the war that in some combatant countries, a number of benches were painted blue indicating that the man sitting there would be distressing to look at. They endured total social isolation and alienation. Their faces were taken away from them and transformed on the battlefield to resemble the mud-churned pits of the trenches themselves. These men were the quintessential social pariahs of the day, not only for their specific disfigurement, but because their faces directly embodied the horrors of war and quite literally bore the inescapable reality of what we are capable of doing to each other. They often only found solace in each other and gave up any hope of leading a normal life. A unique brotherhood was formed where they pressed for their right to have underground social places of their own where they could be together without frightening the general public. Some of the veterans even took their families and started their own small communities far away from general society.

A native New Zealander, Dr. Harold Gillies was a surgeon who worked in field ambulances at the front in France. He observed a celebrated facial surgeon work in Paris and was so fascinated that he decided to specialize in facial reconstruction, no doubt inspired by the injuries he saw during the war. He founded Queen Mary's hospital in Sidcup, England especially for those with facial wounds. He would sometimes receive up to 2,000 patients a day. There, he revolutionized skin grafting techniques, facial reconstruction and dental practices still in use today. The hospital became the center of the world for facial surgery where all mirrors were banned. If the patients caught a glimpse of their reflection in a window or a metal surface, they often collapsed. The wounded soldiers looked up to Gillies and his staff as god-like saviors. He is today considered the father of plastic surgery.

This life-size wax sculpture illustrates skin grafting techniques using skin "pedicules". This is actually an ancient technique used by the Chinese and found in ancient Hindu medical texts, but it was further refined by Dr. Gillies.

These are some water colors illustrating some of the wounds, and the scars before and after surgeries.

Some photographs showing the evolution of various surgical techniques and their staggering transformation.

wearing a mask as well.

In many cases, even this revolutionary medicine could only do so much, and monstrous scars remained.
This is where the sculptors came in.

They set up shop in London and Paris and made masks for the soldiers, who lovingly referred to them as, "The Tin Nose Shops". Armed with a photograph of what the soldier used to look like, they would make a cast of his face first. Then they would pour in galvanized copper, one 30th of an inch thick, and let it cool. Next they would painstakingly paint them and use real human hair for eyebrows, mustaches and even stubble and eyelashes. Each mask took up to six months to make and usually had to be replaced every year or so.

A sculptor working amidst the casts of soldiers hanging on the wall.

Most of these masks are not around today because presumably, the men were eventually buried with them.

There is an exhibition in London right now by Project Façade, lead by Paddy Hartley. It's four years in the making, called "The Faces of Battle" about the men with broken faces. It's at The National Army Museum.

Based on individual case studies, textile sculptures were constructed about the history of each man's injury, surgery and subsequent healing process. The exhibition also features photographs and watercolors from Queen Mary's hospital.
read about it here

see the individual cases here

the watercolors

A french site featuring more photographs and notes about specific cases and the evolution of their healing processes.

During war, medical science progresses faster than at any other time in order to catch up with the harm inflicted by modern warfare. In WWII, neurosurgery was invented, for example. Today, the weapons we employ can easily atomize several million people in a moment. In the Iraq War, improvised explosive devices are capable of tearing off body parts just by the sheer force of the blast alone. Soldiers in this war are losing not only their faces, but all their limbs as well. In response, medical leaps and bounds have been made in the evolution of robotics, prosthetics and even an artificial skin called "frubber' that mimics the cellular structure of human skin. It's astounding how clever we are at patching ourselves back together again after we fall off the wall, but we always manage to fall harder and harder the next time until one day, the human body will be a memory.

Question

2008-01-02T19:18:00.000-06:00

if you could be any living thing on earth besides human, what would it be and why?

'nother drawing

2007-12-13T21:14:00.000-06:00

"Alex wearing a helmet", oil pastel, sharpie, 9"x11"

Larger

Pearl and arms

2007-10-24T03:48:00.000-05:00

Pearl, the long dead ermine girl, lives on amidst (and in spite of) historical glamour.
(In fact, it killed her.)

Pearl and arms, originally uploaded by glands.

Eliza tries on her dress, originally uploaded by glands.

diever

2007-08-19T04:16:00.000-05:00

the diver, oil on canvas...
this is a miniature painting.
the two stretched canvases it is painted on are each 4 inches by 4 inches...
I bought these canvases in Florence.

my Audrey

2007-08-17T00:37:00.001-05:00

my objective, observational study of the squirrel

2007-08-08T14:35:00.000-05:00