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I am a sculptor. I have been raised on art, have always been surrounded by it, and naturally take a lot of it for granted. Technique in sculpture means nothing to me. I believe that the greatest thing in art is nothing; therefore, if you can make something look like nothing and still be something, you will have done what no one has succeeded in doing as yet…which is nothing. And that, in itself, is truly something.
I do not consider my post-it-note sculptures to be an expression of the age, in fact, the chronological age of my sculptures has nothing to do with it. One of the most exciting things about my art is that it is ”age-free”. And as to whether my art is American or anti-American: what pray tell me, do those terms have to do with the muscles in a man’s stomach?
My point exactly.
My post-it-note sculptures evolve from life’s everyday glances. Rather than trying to force my own ideas on life, I let life force it’s ideas on me. Each neon-colored sticky note determines and guides the next. They are a dialogue between giving and taking, and then giving once again. It’s a vicious cycle.
Finally, when I get tired of sculpture and my sculpting mind needs a rest, I take a nap. Because I believe that true sculptors, when they have nothing of importance to do, should nap..
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The following sculptures are from my “Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough” Gallery. I hope they are as cathartic to you as they continue to be to me.
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”Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough”
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“Doug…Doug…Doug…Goosh!”-Bschooled 1997
The inspiration for this piece came to me in my early-20′s, when I was heavily into the dating scene. I was so heavily into the scene, in fact, that if a guy wasn’t nailed to the floor (metaphorically-speaking), I was all over him like a fat kid on a smartie (not metaphorically-speaking).
The problem was, all the guys I dated were the same. Boring, ambitious, University-types, who believed that a financially-secure future came from some silly rolled-up piece of paper, and not just being blessed with a great personality and parents who had well-connected friends.
Because they were all so generic, I not-so-affectionately nicknamed them “Doug”…the most standard and non-descript name I could think of. (No offense if your name is Doug.)
But then I met Goosh.
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“Bow-tie Call” – Bschooled 1997
Goosh was my knight in shining armor. He was a 38 year-old pizza delivery guy/aspiring exotic dancer from Europe, who came to Western Canada in the hopes of catching his big break.
We met one night at my friend Sheila’s stagette party. He showed up at her door dressed as a Police Officer and said the neighbors had filed a complaint, accusing Sheila of being a ”naughty girl”. However, since she lived on an acreage and didn’t have any neighbors, it didn’t take long for us to realize that it was all a ruse.
The moment he tore away his velcro uniform pants and started frottaging the air, I knew it would only be a matter of time before he and I were together. And three hours and a mickey of Smirnoff vodka later, we were. He reassured me that I wasn’t just a “bow-tie call” (he had a thick European accent), but his words couldn’t stop my talented hands from subconsiously creating this brilliant masterpiece the very next morning. .
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Looking back, I’m glad they couldn’t. .... .. ...
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“Keeping Tabs On U”- Bschooled 1997
This majestic wonder was sculpted the day Sheila called to say that she’d seen Goosh at the movie theatre, holding hands with some skinny asian chick with really nice hair. Extremely furious, I phoned him up.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, extremely furiously.
“How did you get my number?” he replied, almost as furiously.
After lying about how I got his number (telling him that I’d actually called the Strip-O-Gram Company and said I worked for Immigration seemed irrelevant at the time), he told me the girl was his cousin who was visiting from North Korea.
Why were you holding her hand?” I asked, not entirely convinced and still mildly furious.
He said they were a really affectionate family, and that was just the North Korean/European way. Feeling foolish, I apologized. But when Sheila phoned me back the next weekend to say that she saw the two of them making out at the bar, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. So I dressed up as a gypsy and secretly started following him.
If I was going to spend the rest of my life with this guy, I needed to know the truth. ..
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”A Dozen (or so) Little Pieces” -1997 ..
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You don’t need to be a sculpting expert to realize that this is piece was created by a devastated–yet still wonderfully brilliant–sculptor.
As it turned out, Goosh had been lying (or should I say telling “half-truths”) the whole time. Not only was the girl with the ridiculously fabulous hair not his cousin, she wasn’t even from North Korea. After furiously calling him on his cell phone only to find out he’d changed his number and it was now unlisted, I threw away the autographed 11×17 self-portrait he gave me and vowed never to call him again.
Needless to say, I was hurting something fierce.
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“Rolling with The Punches”- Bschooled
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After a month spent drowning my sorrows in Cool Ranch Doritos and McCain’s Deep and Delicious Cake, I knew I had to pull myself together. Unfortunately, I also knew that if I ever wanted another boyfriend again, I’d need to lose some of the extra poundage I’d acquired, since I couldn’t get my favorite pair of Big Star jeans over my hips anymore.
So I had one last heart-felt cry, one last cake (with extra ice cream), and moved on. By the following week, not only had I forgotten all about Goosh, I’d lost almost 8 pounds, thanks to daily 12 mile runs and the amazing “Cabbage-Soup Diet”.
*Because I didn’t have any punch at the time (you can’t have sugar on the Cabbage Soup Diet), I was forced to improvise with “Clight” (a specialty from Mexico) and three individual packages of Crystal light. Combined, this makes approximately 3 litres of tasty juice at less than 5 calories per glass. (Depending on the size of your glass.)
“Erasing The Past”- Bschooled
This “creme de la creme” was inspired when I came to the realization that I was finally over Goosh.
To celebrate my 27-pound weight loss in less than two weeks, my friends and I went to the bar, where I ended up running into Doug #2 again. That night I realized that even though he was still extremely boring and ambitious, he was very attentive and had also been working out. It was then that I started to think that maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t given him a fair shot.
We lasted about three weeks before I dumped him again, but it’s safe to say that had I not gotten over Goosh, Doug and I would have never had those three weeks of bliss together. And I know how much those three weeks really meant to him.
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So, of course I had to ask my Magic 8-Ball paper sculpture if I should even bother continuing on with my creative-sculpting genius…And you know what it said?.
“Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” – Bschooled
“Of course you knew!!”
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*I hope you’ve enjoyed viewing my sculptures as much as I’ve enjoyed having them viewed. And if you’re interested in purchasing any of the above, please contact me at bschooled@hotmail.com. I think it goes without saying that these wonderments of expression would be the perfect Christmas gift for that “hard-to-please “Secretary in your life.
That Magic 8 Ball (whether made of paper or towels or plastic) is so clever and unbelievably accurate!
I am now heading off to drown my sorrows (maybe in Crystal Light, maybe not) … I married a Doug…yeah…a Doug…maybe I should start calling him by his middle name? Nah…he’s Doug and always will be.
You’re right Talon, that magic 8-ball of mine has not led me astray yet. And whether it’s because of my ridiculous talent or because I created it to have only one possible outcome, it always says what subconsiously I already knew.
As for your husband, I would appreciate it if you didn’t let him see this post. I pride myself on the fact that my blog is stereotype-free, and I would hate for him to think that I was dissing all Dougs. Unfortunately, sometimes my metaphors lose something when translated to written form.
Trust me, if he could see my accompanying facial expressions and hand gestures, he’d get it.
I love that all Dougs point directly toward Goosh, so reflective of your life. Those who are not artists might not have picked up this, but being one myself, I was the first thing that popped out at me.
I’m sorry, a neighbor just popped in, I’ll have to get back to this later.
Until then….great works, B!
Okee-dokey, I’m back (after a few splashes – of wine that is). Everything becomes clearer after wine. For art enthusiasts, it is a must! Anyhoo….I believe this gallery demonstrates the progress you have made since your last collection. It hits on so many levels of the psyche that it is almost too powerful to put it all into words. I’m just glad to know this prick called Goosh brought the innermost artist out of you B!
YnB,
Your insight proves to me just how connected we really are. Believe it or not, the whole time I was putting this gallery together I just kept thinking to myself, “I wonder if anyone is going to realize how many levels of psyche I’m actually hitting with this?”
In fact, I even thought about putting a warning at the beginning saying something along the lines of “Not Recommended for Those With Limited Psyche Levels”. But then I realized it might make the post a little “too wordy”.
Thank-you, YnB. Without the support from creative-minded people like you, I wouldn’t have the courage to do whatever it is that my creative hands tend to do.
“. . . frottaging the air . . .”
Brilliant, B! That one startled the dogs with my laughter, and those poor hounds are still circling the house and howling (they always run to the door when startled).
As for the blatant American or anti-American symbolism, let’s just say I’m hurt, insulted, and mesmerized by quivering stomach muscles (struggling weakly under several layers of fat).
Yet . . . sacrifices must be made in the name of brilliant art, and Andy Warhol should be taking copius notes, if he still wasn’t slightly handicapped by advanced rigor mortus in a brightly-colored soup can way.
Stay the course, my favorite artist ever. Your works are nothing short of origamically sculptured genius, and well worth the pulp of cultivated trees, who still give silent thanks for the oppurtunity to serve as your chosen stock.
Okay . . . jumping the shark now.
Time to start dinner!
Invasive1,
As you probably know, being a true artist means that I have never been in this for the money. Therefore, knowing that I’m your favorite artist is worth more than ten moneys to me…maybe even twenty. (Tough to say for sure, I’ve yet to be offered appreciation in monetary form.)
Regardless, I have to thank-you. Your masterfully-arranged and wit-laden words mean a lot to me. So much, in fact, that I plan on quoting them on my next gallery.
Or better yet, maybe I’ll sculpt them…
Bravo maestro, bravo. Not only is your running commentary shot through with pathos, the art is both stunning and savage in its exploration of the human condition. Clearly you have shown both French neoclassicism and German Romanticism to be completely false and shill. This represents a complete break with the stodgy vagaries of artistic convention, but is the world ready, will any of us understand while we slog though this mortal coil? Show us the way B.
If we see clearly at all, its because we are standing on the firm metaphorical shoulders of a true genius. I would willingly be my Rustigielo to your Marco Polo any day of the week. Thank you B, thank you.
FJ, you have no idea how long I have been waiting to hear that!
I’ve been trying to portray the “Boo French Neoclassicism/German Romanticism Yay understanding other stuff while coil slogging” for a while now, but I always felt as though I was losing something in the translation. To know that I totally hit the nail on the head…well, let’s just say that if my fingers weren’t so busy typing right now, they’d be furiosly sculpting, inspired by your brilliant words of encouragement.
Thank-you FJ. You make me want to be a “no better/no worse” sculptor.
That mystical, magical man(s) in my life is called Mike! Concrete Mike was the second in a series of three, and he came into my life 3 times as well… hard to get over..
Why didn’t I turn to art? Why, oh why…..
Thank you , your art is great therapy… maybe a new job ?
Ahh…”the Mikes”…unfortunately I know those very well also. In fact, I think I’ve been schooled on most of the “one-syllables” out there (as I like to call them).
It’s not to late, DF. With a creative mind like yours, you’d go far. In fact, there’s no question that you’d kill in the “Prophylactic Sculpture” genre…
(Trust me, I’ve seen the others’ work.)
Prophylactic sculpture! wonderful category name. Thank you. I do believe that we’ve not seen the last of my sculpting…
Can’t wait!
Let me know if you need any materials, I have a friend who does those Passion Parties.
She says (quote) “It’s like Tupperware for your privates!”
(I have no idea what she means by that)
I think you are ready for an EXHIBITION ( make it so it doesn’t clash with Twilight bookclub though!). I am pretty sure you can get sponsorship from 3M. It should bgood.
Thanks Frigginloon!
You could be on to something…who knows, maybe I could be their new “Post-it Girl”!
Unless they already have one? I’ll have to look into that.
Excellent work bschooled… As with all of your fantastic art, I enjoy finding/uncovering the multiple layers of interpretation and expression!
I’m really fascinated by the magic 8ball paper sculpture… I can’t help but to imagine that in that paper wrapping is a 17year old McDonald’s Big Mac… I’m thinking of constructing one for my personal use… Of course I don’t have any 17 year old Big Macs around the house so any suggestions would be good! Do you throw this up into the air? Or do you spin it around? Thanks in advance…
That’s a very good question, Frank. It sounds to me like you might have a few creative bones in your body as well.
I prefer to use loose leaf myself, only because I like to avoid the grease stains. When crumpled incorrectly, it can make for an unslightly sculpture. I’m also not a big hamburger lover myself (when I was a child I tried to eradicate the Hamburglar), so the smell makes me slightly nauseous.
However, it’s really just a matter of personal preference.
As for the throw/spin dilemma, I say definitely the spin. That way not only do you have more control over the end result, you’re also helping maintain it’s original form.
Hopefully soon this sculpting of mine will ease up (Christmas season and I’m smack in the middle of inspiration right now) and I’ll have time to put together a manual.
Are you having any weird conversations with your boss as he comes across your impromptu “sculpting” sessions, either in progress or while you’re away in the supply closet (read: art closet)?
This is not to take away anything from this impressive set of sculptures, which reflect the general ennui and whatnot of the dating scene, especially as it pertains to two-timing foreigners.
This calls to mind the little known rule of high school dating as first laid down by the great-great-stepaunt of Miss Manners, who let young, virtuous women of the late 1800′s know that Doug was a commendable name and Goosh was a close relation to Gallant, who was wanted for a variety of petty crimes including jaywalking, talking with his mouth full, stripmining, associating with known Chinamen, cakewalking and vehicular homicide.
We’ve all known a Goosh or two in our lives, and in the cases of us men, possibly even been a Goosh (or two). I think the moral of this tale (and its attendant sculptures) is that “There but for the grace of Anubis go I. (Or rather, if you are male: There but for the grace of Anubis goes someone who never dated me and then called me up while I was making out with a Korean at the movies.)”
Excellent post, bschooled. The magic 8-ball never lies. At least that’s what my dealer tells me, especially when I begin to speculate on the purity of the substance involved.
CLT,
I’m glad you asked the question re: my Boss, as it certainly does bear mentioning.
You see, the thing is that I work in a very creative environment. In fact, all of my co-workers spend their days creating structures from raw materials such as; inorganic and organic industrial chemicals, fuels and petrochemicals, plastics and elastomers, oleochemicals, explosives and petroleum, as well as other inks, sealants and adhesives. Their creativity never ceases to amaze me, and I gotta tell you, their explosive petroleum sculptures really bring the house down.
So therefore, because my Boss is creative-minded and never here, he encourages me on this path I’m on. I mean, he hasn’t said it in so many words (because like I said he’s never here), but then again, he doesn’t need to. We just have that kind of connection.
I’m very blessed indeed.
Anyway, thank you for the kind words and brilliant moral to my story, CLT. It sums up exactly what I was tryng to portray in my work. If it weren’t for that jackal-headed God, who knows where I’d be today.
I just pray that everyone else “gets it”. (Hopefully they read your comment so they do).
creative sculptures….i like “keeping tabs on U” best.
What a coincidence, I’m a big fan of that one myself…
Unfortunately I used up my monthly allotment of tabs on that one piece (budget constraints), but I think the end result makes it worth it.
Thanks for stopping by, Lynn, always good to see you:)
Dearest B,
Your work is more magnificent with each passing week. Your elegant prose coupled with your hauntingly powerful sculptures is almost more than my sensitive soul can tolerate. I can barely glance at your work anymore without tearing up like I did when I watched 7 Pounds. Which was quite embarrassing. But I was hung-over and extra emotional that day.
I’m always shocked at how much we have in common. It is truly an honor.
- I too was raised by art. I used to make little smiley faces or sometimes buildings out of my food. The doctors who were always hovering were fearful, and said hurtful words like, ‘OCD, Asperger’s, Autism,’ and even, “I think he may be retarded.”
- If doing nothing is the greatest art form, then I am one of the most accomplished artists of all time. –Which also means that if I’m retarded then I am an extremely low-functioning retard. HA!
- I also firmly believe that one should nap, sleep, or even nod out as often as possible. How else can one tap into ‘The Blackness?’
I feel so bad for you about the whole Goosh travesty. You really have to watch those man-whore stealing Asians with their perfect hair and perfect teeth. The prettiest girl I ever dated was half Asian and half Greek. Her hair was a silken, ebony wonderland. Her skin was so luminous it almost glowed. Her eyes….oh, I’m probably not helping, sorry.
Finally, I have two business ideas…
1- Can you change the title of #4 to A Million Little Pieces? And can you change it from a sculpture to a book about a horrible drug addiction that you never had? Then you can go on Oprah, before everyone finds out you’re a fraud. But even after you are exposed, we will be able to keep the money from the book sales. Oprah is the key to everything.
2- Do you think you can turn your Cabbage Soup Diet into a little e-book? Or maybe just give me the recipe, and I can crank out twenty pages of filler. –If you haven’t noticed; I ‘do’ filler well. Those fucking diet books sell like hotcakes. But if the fat fuckers would just quit buying the hotcakes they wouldn’t really need the diet books. Ironic huh?
Let me know what you think.
Are you kidding me?
I swear Scott, you and I have so much in common that I have to pinch myself sometimes. Believe it or not, I myself used to make “art out of food”. I think the only difference between your art and mine was that my pieces were never allowed to touch each other, nor were they allowed to be brown (or orange) in color. I also had to chew my artistic creations 24 times on each side of my mouth, because 24 divided by eight plus one is four, and the fourth month of the year was when I was born.
It’s like we were separated at birth or something…
As for your ideas, I think they’re brilliant. In fact, believe it or not, the first idea of yours was the same one I initially had. Unfortunately, I (like you) have the attention span of a gnat, so I got bored after however many pieces it was I made in that photo. I was also a little worried because our receptionist kept walking around yelling “Who keeps using up all of the post-it-notes? I just bought a whole case of them and already they’re gone!”
Dumb bitch.
Anyway, here’s the recipe for your second (totally ironic) business plan-
1 Pot boiled water
1 Head cabbage
Now go and work your magic, Scott…we’ve got a Best Sellers e-list to conquer!
This is the second time I read your resonating response and I only now got the ‘Pinch myself’ reference. I’m going to have to be quicker on the uptake to keep up with your witty banter.
I have to admit that I’m a little underwhelmed with your cabbage soup recipe. Thankfully thanks to the suggestion of our mutual friend FJ, I am now an aspiring James Beard award hopeful-ly someday. So maybe I can tweak it by adding some shit. Maybe crushed up cheese crackers, mashed yams, and some black pepper will do the trick.
I was born on 2-22 if you can believe that…..I know! Right?
Cheese crackers and yams are high in carbohydrates, Scott. Has Dr. Bernstein taught you nothing? You might as well just take those fat-creating ingredients, blend them all together in your Ron Popeil Magic Bullet Blender, throw it all in a baggie and duck tape it to your thighs.
The pepper would be alright, though.
And you won’t believe this, but I already knew you were born on 2-22! You know why? Because I took the number of blog posts you have, divided that number by the number of tiles on my ceiling at work, multiplied it by the number of times I’ve said “If I had a nickel…”, and then used the Pythagorean theorem to do something else. For real!
I also knew that because I have a mild telepathic tic. But that’s neither here nor there…
The last time someone suggested that I duct tape a baggie to my thigh, I was detained at customs in Miami for a day, before ….some other things happened.
That’s so freaking cool that you figured out my birth date by using blog posts, ceiling tiles, nickels, and Pythons spasms (or whatever complicated algorithm you meant. Sorry I really suck cabbage at math). Do you think you can come up with a system for picking the lottery numbers or at maybe roulette? We could finally take that trip to vegas….
Don’t worry, I’m already on it.
Equation for Roulette Tables:
# of people pretending to be “Lindsay Lohan” on Twitter x # of times I’ve stolen my co-workers lunch from the fridge and then blamed it on the new guy who doesn’t speak English well / the average temperature in Las Vegas on a non-leap year - some other Pythagorean theorem thingy = Winning Roulette Numbers.
Quite simple really.
I’ll have to get back to you on the lotto equation, I’m taking a late lunch.
Can’t wait for our trip!
Goosh just sounds like a infectious disease so its probably for the best. Just think if people were going around saying you got the goosh.
They’ve said worse…
*ahem*
[laughing]…funny one.
and what cures the “goosh”?
I wish I knew…
(Just for curiosity’s sake, mind you)
Excellent work Bschooled,
My wife Aggie experimented with sculpture back in the late 50s but she used carbon paper, typewriter ribbons and Alco Typerite Index Tabs. They were wonderful creations but tended to smudge your fingers and have been linked to chronic illness.
It was a decent hobby for her but she wasn’t a serious artist like you are.
Now, far be it from me to interfere but I have to say that this Goosh fellow sounds like a bad egg. I’ve nothing against Eastern Europeans, they make a fine soup, but in my estimation you’re far better off with a local lad.
(And nothing wrong with the name “Doug” as far as I’m concerned. It may be non-descript and standard but those are two of the four pillars of a successful marriage – along with routine and predictable.)
But enough about me.
I’d be grateful to receive any one of your fine creations. Perhaps the bow-tie? While I don’t care for ostentatious neckware, there is something playful about it that strikes my fancy.
All the best,
Don
Thank-you Don.
You have no idea what it means to me to know that you, of all people, support my creative passions. To be honest, I was a little worried that you might think of my art as being a little too contemporary for your sensible taste.
I guess that’s just another reason why you never cease to amaze me.
I also want you to know that I really do appreciate these pep talks of yours. You always have a way of making me see things from a more prudent, less uninhibited perspective. And thanks to you, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I could actually learn to dig Doug.
Let’s just say that if we ever do end up back together (fingers crossed!), you can bet your bag of pork rinds that we’ll be naming our first (and only) child “Don”.
Even if it’s a girl.
Your friend,
Bschooled
ps. Consider the bow-tie yours. In fact, if you can wait a few days I’ll even sculpt you a flat cap and a sharp-looking pair of suspenders to go along with it!
Remember, no need to thank me…it’s the least I could do.
So where was the girl with the pretty hair from? I bet it was from South Korea. You can distinguish them from the North Koreans because their hoo-hoo’s are horizontal.
And how can you say “Doug” is non-descript? When I think of the name Doug, I think of the wonderful Doug Henning. I would hardly call him non-descript. You need to apologize.
I’m embarrassed to say that I had to Google Doug Henning. I’m even more embarrassed to say that you are right, TL.
I take everything I said about the name ‘Doug’ back, this guy is truly an enigma. http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2399/2310724128_da7b611e35.jpg
ps. I always thought the horizontal hoo-hoo’s were a Thai thing?
check out this link, B. http://www.amazon.com/Money-Origami-Kit-Make-Dollar/dp/0804840261/ref=sr_1_35?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1258523096&sr=1-35 For either your sculptures or Auntie D’s bookmobile. something to do with all those extra dollars you got floating around!
Thanks John!
I wonder if it works with pennies. Unfortunately, sales have been pretty slow as of late.
Must be the recession…
Of course it works with pennies. You just need a blow torch and safety goggles and a good pair of heat resistant gloves. The kind of stuff everyone has laying around somewhere, right?