log decor
I need these paintings for the log... they are in somebody else's house, but maybe Deiter could liberate them for me.
posted by sloth @ 10:53 AM
13 comments
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I need these paintings for the log... they are in somebody else's house, but maybe Deiter could liberate them for me.
13 Comments:
These are by a polish kid named Jakub Julian Ziolkowski.
I like the folk weimar feel of them. plus the sides of the canvases on the right are trompe... the stretchy bits around the tacks are painted on.
Ah, I will send Deiter right over! I know he is in town for the art fair. He is wearing quite a large trenchcoat.
oh good... thanks, peeds! I must have these delectible items. Please tell Deiter that I'll reward his efforts with buttered spätzle and some fancy karate chop moves.
love these painting's edges! Why didn't I think of that. Stupid brain.
SLOTH! I was afraid you were abandoning us for a second there...
phew
was gonna. chickent out.
also, I didn't want the last post on logworld to be a picture of lint.... when I go out it'll be in a burst of porn & rainbows! plus I'll also reveal deep dark secrets; it'll be real messy but spectacular like a car wreck.
or maybe I'll just hang a "gone fishing" sign up like everyone else.
the first one there is like sci-fi pms. i am partial to the shoe painting meself.
what is this talk of gone-fishin' and such? i hope this is just an empty threat.
Even though I am a pony, I have sci-fi PMS right now, a matrix of clotted force-fields is flowing from my nether regions like the mighty and hopelessly polluted yet sarced Ganges
fairy, the sloth jest needed to dip a paw in to the infinite sublimeness of nonexistence. not quite ready yet, I guess.
the weimar torso lady's got the universe reclining in her... um, liver.
sloth, you were worrying me there for a moment...however, i am also ready to battle you. for the mm painting. i would like to incorporate the climbing wall into our battle, with ropes, buckets of wet concrete and pirate eyepatches. i want that painting.
Wow you guys. You make my socks warm. How's about I cut it in half? Or you can live out your days in the gut hut together with the painting dangling precariously over a fire. The gut hut is so named because it rumbles and squeaks as a bothered gut might. I will move in with you. We will eat nerds and jam. Our paintings can all take turns over the fire. Just a thought.
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