I’ve just been browsing Muertos Ruz on Instagram…
I love her sweet, slightly warped drawings. They remain so innocent despite the proliferation of bugs, ghosts and guts.
I’ve just been browsing Muertos Ruz on Instagram…
I love her sweet, slightly warped drawings. They remain so innocent despite the proliferation of bugs, ghosts and guts.
Sometimes I write fictional surrealist resumes in my head just for fun. I’m definitely adding “Can appear as a disembodied head and hypnotize crocodiles” to my skill set.
The daintiest amphibious juggler.
There is something very wrong with this cat’s hind quarters (or maybe very right as far as he’s concerned).
An unlikely friendship, indeed.
There are not nearly enough meat puns in the sentimental postcard industry.
So delightfully subtle…until you step in the wrong spot, that is.
Thank you, Rachel, for these next two. I’ll quote her here: “No means NO, Jesus!”
…but this is a sweater that many can afford. (I’m sure this man’s parrot has become clinically depressed from living with him).
Genuinely creepy. Not sure where this comes from. Hell, presumably.
I was going to write an individual comment for each of these, but they kind of work as a dyad.
I spent a while trying to figure out this “twelfth finger” thing. Does anyone get it?
Now, a giant chicken absconding with a child, anyone can understand.
Years ago, I saved this lovely little box of skeletons by Spanish artist ARYZ, not knowing who the artist was (neither did Google image search at the time).
I eventually stumbled upon the image again, properly credited, which allowed me to delve into his small scale prints and street art, all of which I was quite fond.
He paints giant murals, often on the sides of abandoned factories where he can have time to work undisturbed. Despite the high volume of skeletons and the innards of various creatures, his work has a kind of sweetness to it at times.
Today I bring you Danish painter Lisa Lach-Nielsen.
Adding to its raw beauty is the highly allegorical feeling of her work. We see her subjects’ wishes, dreams, fears and frailties.
While there’s plenty of nice art on Braden Duncan’s website, Clockwork Art,, I’m most drawn to her Tangled Marionette series.
These images remind me of the subtle ties that bind. Her subjects are bound only by the finest gossamer filament…yet they are nonetheless pulled or fixed in place, in fragile reciprocity with their surroundings. The webbing also implies at least some passage of time (or maybe I just read into everything with my Jungian imagination).
What do these images conjure for you?
Years ago, I remember reading about Romanian artist Aitch’s “rebellion against academic anatomy.”
Her quote from the source went as follows:
I chose to work on this project because I always had an issue with the human anatomy. All those years in college and at the university made me so bitter to the academic/strict ways of dealing with the human form in such a degree that, now, my whole style is based on avoiding realistic body shapes and embracing awkward proportions and weird-fun characters.
I love the traditional Romanian style that comes through in much of her work as well. A beautiful fictional anatomy deserves a beautiful coffin, no?
I came across this incredible piece by Nikolay Valchev on Pinterest, and it transported me to a world of ancient illuminated manuscripts and alchemical texts.
The online portfolio is on the small side, but contains remarkable work like this:
Such a lost art…
Christophe Gilland has a very interesting history indeed.
From his artist bio:
Christophe is an Irish-born Czech-Canadian yet French citizen; and after having lived in Orlando (Florida) and Vancouver, (British Columbia) he moved to Prague in 2009. The son of a classical animator, Christophe enjoyed a somewhat fairy-tale childhood spent behind the scenes at Walt Disney World’s animation studios, which played a significant part in his early artistic influences.
Themes since explored range from esoteric phenomenon and fairytales to science and alchemical practices. From childlike curiosities, monstrosities and psychology, to man’s relationship with nature, the archaic and the otherworldly.
I especially love his wildly creative take on the “anatomy” of common plants and creatures.
Aaron Smith is clearly inspired by Victorian and Edwardian portraiture, in which the subjects possessed a kind of austere masculinity.
Yet he belies this stark virility with the use of broad impressionist strokes and vibrant colors. Life force emerges from these stoic poses.
Smith’s work seems to simultaneously conjure deeply rooted masculine archetypes, and surpass the cultural constraints generally superimposed on these archetypes.