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blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.
blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.
I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.
Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.
Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!
Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.

blackrabbitsculpture:

Detail shots of my “Welcome to Inlé” sculpture, completed early July, 2014.

I realize I mentioned writing more about the piece when I posted these, but now I can’t for the life of me remember what it was I wanted to say.

Watership Down was one of the first novels I read as a child, probably at 10 or 12. I saw the animated film soon after, and it’s clear to me that both the book and the movie made an indelible impression on me. I reread the book every two or three years, and it hasn’t lost any of its power or impact. Most of all, I’m enthralled by the rich stories the rabbits share with one another throughout the novel. My love for mythology was certainly encouraged by reading WSD as a child.

Thanks for the wonderful response to this piece so far, you amazing folks!

Materials and dimensions and all that other good stuff can be found on the turnaround photoset that’s posted on my Tumblr, right below this post.

itsstuckyinmyhead:

zohbugg:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 

Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.

On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.

The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”

And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:

[stifled giggling]

[reeeeeeally deep breath]

[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]

The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.

In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”

FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 

Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

image

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

image

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit

this post just kept getting better and better

This is my favorite post and always will be.

(Source: housecatincarnate)

ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.
ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art
Facebook / on artnet
Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.
“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro
via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.

ursulavernon:

asylum-art:

Kris Kuksi Art

Facebook / on artnet

Born March 2, 1973, in Springfield Missouri and growing up in neighboring Kansas, Kris Kuksi spent his youth in rural seclusion and isolation along with a blue-collar, working mother, two significantly older brothers, and an absent father. Open country, sparse trees, and alcoholic stepfather, all paving the way for an individual saturated in imagination and introversion. His propensity for the unusual has been a constant since childhood, a lifelong fascination that lent itself to his macabre art later in life. The grotesque to him, as it seemed, was beautiful.

“A post-industrial Rococo master, Kris Kuksi obsessively arranges characters and architecture in asymmetric compositions with an exquisite sense of drama. Instead of stones and shells he uses screaming plastic soldiers, miniature engine blocks, towering spires and assorted debris to form his landscapes. The political, spiritual and material conflict within these shrines is enacted under the calm gaze of remote deities and august statuary. Kuksi manages to evoke, at once, a sanctum and a mausoleum for our suffocated spirit.” ~Guillermo del Toro

via I need a guide

Hoooooly mackerel.

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