There's such an abundance of art in this world that fills my (squishy, gummy, probably blackened) heart with wanting. However, not all of it is hung out of reach on a gallery or museum's cold, foreboding wall. In fact, a lot of it is within (virtual) reach through the wonders of the interwebs.
Here's my shortlist of art I wish to own. Let the rearrangement of my apartment begin!
I've always been fascinated by hand iconography, be it religious, anatomical, roughly sketched or forgiving flesh and blood. Poodle Breath's sculpture (and cowls with big ol' buttons, and jewelry) is at the top of my wish list. I'd place a gentle feather, tinkling beads or other found objects in those waiting hands and use them as a devotional.
I'm fascinated by the universe and my place within it, so hunkering down with an interstellar art quilt riddled with white dwarfs, supernovae and black holes leaves an infinity to ponder (literally).
Justin Durand seriously rules. I love everything he produces; his Mermaids VHS piece literally made me laugh out loud. This original drawing is captioned as such: "this drawing is about being alone in pitch blackness.
and being totally still and silent.
either being scared or feeling peaceful.
not sure! both!"
I could moonily gaze into BergmansBear's rolling knolls, deep creeks and hazy expanses for, pretty much, ever. They're like portals into an alternate reality.
Luca Dipierro is a new artist on my list. His ominous, slightly carnivalesque assemblages remind me of the skeletons and ghouls from Minnie the Moocher meeting a carnivorous zombie processional in a darkened alley. His inspirations read: "Northern European Renaissance painting, Italian Mannerist etchings, the
cartoons of Fletcher Hanks, the work of François Rabelais, Mexican
chapbooks, early advertising, funhouses, graveyards and marionettes."
Because...who doesn't need a convenient wishbone?
The Miscreants of Tiny Town series by Alex Kuno is at once mythical, uplifting and terrifying. It's a tad raw + grisly, but I always appreciate artwork that provokes a reaction. "Sally and the Serpent" is by far the best.
Because the intersection of bivalves and pom poms is something of which I must plumb the depths. (Damn, this is cool.)
Caroline Gaedechens' work is just mind-blowing. The spareness of her linework and the simplicity of her subject matter is ethereal, tenuous and ridiculously up my alley. I own many prints of Caroline's work and would love to own this diminutive book of illustrations, entitled "13 Dreams."
This decrepit antique horse reminds me of something from a Chinese emperor's tomb. I would gladly give it a new home in which to gallop.