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ARTIST STATEMENT
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I am an artist. I live, breathe, and perspire art. My work can be described as figurative or literal. It can be described as minimalist or maximist. It can even be described as gesture art, a phenomenon especially apparent in my two latest works, aptly-titled “Dormant Jazz Hands” and “Reverse-Shocker”.
My leftover Christmas fruitcake sculptures start out erratic and freeform, like a carelessly assembled tray of stale baked goods. I then add other, more erratic and freeform elements to the mix, such as icing, almond paste, even the occasional sprinkling of nuts if I’m feeling reckless. Though my creations are humorless and bleak, in them there is also a sense of playfulness- an olly olly oxen-free, if you will- that is all my own.
When people ask me how long I’ve been an artist, I have to say, “Ask my art.” Because my art is mute, I know that my secret will remain safe.
Welcome to my Gallery.
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*These sculptures were inspired by my 2008 trip to Vegas. Please keep in mind that because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I was forced to wait until I got home to create these sculptures. While I tried to keep my emotions as raw as possible, they may have inadvertently ended up a little less raw, thanks to the long flight home followed by the two-hour interrogation from the customs agents.
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“YOU GOTTA KNOW WHEN TO FOLD ‘EM”- 2008
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“Deal Me In”- 2008
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This tangible thought came to mental fruition after my boyfriend, Don–who I was planning to break up with but didn’t know how because he was uber sensitive about that kind of thing–surprised me with a trip to Las Vegas. He’d bought the tickets on impulse, after seeing that I’d changed my Facebook relationship status from “In a Relationship” to “It’s Complicated.”
“Come to the city that never sleeps,” he said, adding that it might help me take my mind off the fact that I was suffering from severe insomnia at the time.
I knew it probably wouldn’t be right, but since I’d never been to Vegas and really enjoy traveling, I had no other choice but to go.
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“Momma Needs A New Pair Of Boot-Like Shoes” – 2008
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Before leaving, I told my Mother I would use my winnings to buy her a pair of boot-like shoes (to support her weak ankles). Because she’d spent the last six years working two jobs to support my non-working lifestyle, I felt it was the least I could do.
So, after checking in to our hotel, Don and I made our way to the casino. Though I didn’t know how to gamble, I did know that I had to be “In It to Win It”.
I also knew that no matter what, I would get my Mother those boot-like shoes. Even if she had to wire me more money to do it.
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“Calling A Spade A Spade”-2008
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This reverse-eyesore was conceived after the blackjack dealer informed me that this symbol was actually a “spade”, and not a “mushroom house” as I’d been led to believe.
It was a humbling experience, one that was made even more humbling after discovering that the “tilted shreddie” was, in fact, a “diamond”.
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“Playing Russian Roulette” -2008
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*FYI, Because I din’t know what a Russian roulette table actually looks like, I was forced to improvise with a Russian ushanka.
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After a few hours of hardcore nickel slots, Don went back to the room. We had tickets for the Burt Bacharach concert later, and since he anticipated it being “a total shitshow,” he wanted to rest up. But I couldn’t stop. I was hot and the machines were loose. Then the machines were hot and I was loose. It was a vicious cycle.
It was only a matter of time before I found myself standing at the roulette table, following my artistic intuition and betting it all on red. (FYI, “red” is an intuitive artists’ favorite color.)
Thankfully, Lady Luck was on my side.
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“Somebody Stop Me!” -2008
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Sadly, it was only a matter of time before I began mentally sculpting this breathtaking plea for help.
Turns out not only was Lady Luck not on my side, the guy who said she was didn’t even know her. After losing thirty dollars in thrice as many minutes, I finally hit rock bottom. It was like going from Nicholas Cage in the movie where he wins the lottery, to Nicholas Cage in the movie where he decides he’s going to go to Las Vegas to drink himself to death but then he meets a prostitute who used to work for a Latvian pimp and pays her $500 but just wants to talk and she’s really impressed because no one has ever paid her money just to talk before so they fall in love and she tries to save him but too little too late.
Yes, it was exactly like that.
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“That’s Just The Way The Inedible Treat Crumbles” -2008
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In the end, it all worked out. Don said that if I promised to a) get help and b) not break up with him, not only would he buy my mom her boot-shoes, he would also pay for my drinks at the Burt Bacharrach concert. We went home the next day, and after breaking up with Don (which didn’t make me a liar because technically Facebook did it), I started seeing a Life Coach.
Now, not only have I been off the slots for almost two years, I’m also sculpting my future best-selling visual memoir...
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So, of course I had to pull out my “Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” and ask it whether or not I had a future in fruitcake sculpting.
And can you guess what it said?
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“Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” -2008
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I mean, really, was there ever any question?
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Thank-you for visiting my gallery. If you are interested in any of the above sculptures or would like me to create unique sculptures from your leftover Christmas fruitcake, please contact me at bschooled@hotmail.com.
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Of course you have a future in fruit cake sculpture. There are millions of people today wondering what the hell they are going to do with last years fruitcake. Now they have an outlet.
You’re right, Bearman. I guess my only worry is that nobody will want to buy my fruitcake sculptures.
Then again, I could always just give them away as Christmas presents.
I am in awe of your fruit sculpting talents, b! And the absolute best thing about fruitcake sculptures is that they only get more awesome (mold adds a wonderful texture to conceptual art) with age.
Your Mom had to be delighted with her boot-like shoes. You definitely gotta support weak ankles and supportive Moms :)
I knew you’d be in awe of my talents, T, I just knew it!
I do find the mold adds a certain “Je ne sais quoi” to my pieces, but only because when it comes down to it, “je ne sais quoi” mold really is. (Back in high school, I had to take power naps during Biology just so I’d have more energy for art class).
And yes, I think it’s safe to say that were it not for my weak-ankled mom, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Which, coincidentally enough, is in her house, since I’m staying with her for the next week.
;)
Rats I like fruitcake it’s the only thing I ask for each year. Best way to spend the holidays with friends and family.
Take a fruitcake and two fifths of rum (any kind) put the fruitcake up on a rack in some kind of a glass bowl. Put both bottles of run in the bottom of the bowl and set the fruitcake on top of the rack. Make sure the fruitcake doesn’t tough the rum. Cover and let set for three weeks. The day before the holiday, whichever one it is, eat fruitcake drink the rum and you’ll wake up after it is all over. If you wake up before the last guest has gone home grab the backup fruitcake eat quickly down the rum and pray the coma you’re going into won’t last longer than six months. You can always tell the boss the fruitcake he gave you did it. Talon I don’t think mold can live on a fruitcake. I don’t think a lab rat can live on a fruitcake either.
Ha! Well, if you like fruitcake, Ellis, I have a box full of sculpted deliciousness with your name written all over it!
(I’m not kidding, just now I took a sharpie and wrote “desk49/Ellis” on it. But only because I don’t want anyone else calling dibs.)
And that’s not all! If you call now, you’ll also receive two commemorative bottles of Admiral Nelson Rum FREE (a $19.95 value!) with your order. (They’re completely empty, of course, but that doesn’t make them any less commemorative.)
Oh, and that’s still not all! If you call an hour ago, you’ll also receive a lab rat you can use to either confirm or disprove your theory!
So, what are you waiting for? Pick up that phone and call yesterday!
What no S.&H.? Wow I need to rush and call before yesterday.
And my bank account you’ll need
to get that billion dollars out of
some county in St Scamthree
Now this is because I want to know
if one will last a life time why do I need two
For double the S.&H. and a small extra fee
They’ll ship both in the same box right to you
This is a bit touchy so not sure I should post
But why do I need life insurance on my kids
To protect them for unseen problems in the future?
Don’t someone have to die to get the money?
Who do you has to die, and who gets the cash?
That is why I took out a big life insurance policy on the wife
Now we just set around keeping a close watch on each other.
Haha! Don’t worry about any of that stuff, Ellis. That’s why I’m here.
Just send me your credit card and social insurance number, and you and your wife can focus on more important things…like not losing sight of each other…
Hoo boy. Like you bschooled, memories of fruitcake are inextricably tied to my mother. Confession: I once re-gifted a fruit cake to my now deceased mother (yes, I know it’s tacky, but you would understand if you knew our family dynamics). Long story short, she promptly returned it claiming I had “poisoned” it. Sort of like the time she accused my sister of sneaking into her home at night and poisoning her tartar sauce and switching the label, and like the time she accused my sister’s boyfriend of poisoning my sister so she would have a stroke (she never accepted that it was due to a patent foramen ovale). My mother was a fascinating woman. She resembled a (sexier) brunette version of Suze Orman and, like Suze, had an entrepreneurial streak. Had she been sober, college educated and had more start-up capital, she would have been formidable as a businesswoman. Alas, she drank herself into oblivion (and eventually death). The paranoia would be exacerbated by her binges. Which probably explains why (to this day), when talking about my mother my sister prefaces her recollections with “I’m glad that woman is DEAD!!” Not sure what became of the fruitcake bschooled, but it is a sure bet that it was re-gifted (following the reverse gifting).
P.S. The Russian ushanka sculpture is my favorite!
Elizabeth,
You know me (the one who lives in such a bubble that she still has nightmares re: your incident with “crazy neighbour guy”), normally I would be in the fetal position right now, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that a mother could be like that.
But after a) my recent obsession with Dateline and 48 Hours Mystery, and b) reading TL’s fascinating book (which is another reason why I’ve always revered your honest and candid comments), all I can say is that considering what you (and your siblings) went through, you should be given an award for enduring such a horrible experience and becoming the compassionate and brilliant woman/mother I know you are. Especially since so many kids who go through similar experiences end up following the same path as their progenitors.
You can’t choose your parents, but thanks to you, TL, and Chris Hansen from Dateline I’ve learned that I shouldn’t complain about the lady who’s womb I spent 9 months occupying. Even if she does send me 50 email forwards a day, half of which are bible passages (cleverly disguised as “jokes”), and the other half desperate pleas for grandchildren (this time disguised as jokes about “The Joys of Motherhood”).
ps. I am dedicating the ushanka to you!
Thank you for the kind words bschooled!! While making a patient’s bed in nursing school with another nursing student named Margo, I mentioned something derogatory about my mother. Margo responded quite passionately “Oh, I loved my mother!” She went on to describe this wonderful woman and the close bond they shared. For the first time in my life, it occurred to me that a daughter could actually love her mother. This was a complete novelty to me. I remember feeling stunned, but intrigued. Margo was at least 20 years older than me. It also occurred to me that Margo was a woman that a daughter could love. Now I was completely flummoxed. This concept of maternal love turned my world upside down. It wasn’t enough to heal the rift I felt with women, but it was enough to yearn and wonder and admire good mothers. Sounds like you have a good mother, bschooled. And you sound like the kind of woman a daughter could love. Thank you for the kind words.
It’s true, E. Many people use their past as an excuse, and really who am I to judge. But the people I admire most are those who are strong enough to turn things around and become the parents/mentors they never had growing up. I may not twit/twat? much, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sign on every so often to read about how proud you are of your gorgeous girls, and how much fun you guys seem to have together.
Thanks God for stalking via social networking sites!;)
That was friggin hilarious Bschooled. Christmas is never gonna be the same. Sheez and thanks for the heads up about the “mushroom house” saved myself a whole lot of awkward!
Ha! No worries, FL. As long as my humiliation ends up helping others, then in the end, it’s all worth it.
(I just thank God I that I was able to recognize the three-leaf clover…)
What leftover fruit cake? there is never any left over cake in my house
NM!!!
I could be wrong, but I think the absence of leftover fruitcake might have something to do with the fact that you Aussies think vegemite tastes good…;)
ps. Glad you’re back!
Gee, I’m sorry to hear about the outcome with Don because in my mind he sounds like a real keeper. Taking an insomniac to the city that never sleeps is a stroke of genius! It only gets better that he set you loose in a casino while he ‘rested’ – although, truth be told, it would have been better had he plied you with alcohol first, spun you around 20 times in quick succession, then whispered, ‘you can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave’ (because I have heard that it is pretty much as easy to find an exit in a casino as it is to find a humble chemically soaked apple at a organic growers market) before he slunk off without you. This would have elevated his status in my mind to that of ‘beyond genius’, and I would have been suggesting you snag him ’till death via sleep deprivation and gambling addiction destitution’ did you part.
With people like this in your life, it is no wonder you feel inspired to produce such moving and confronting works of raw emotion via cooked fruitcake.
OMG, to tell you the truth, I never really thought of it that way. And now that I think about it, who in their right mind (aka. under the age of 70) buys tickets to Burt Bacharach anyway? I mean, seriously, listen to the guy- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWaDjG_DNW0
All I can say is that I’m glad I got out when I did.
I can only imagine the kind of life I would’ve had, a gambling addict raising three oxymoronic kids with questionable tastes in music, while my lazy “mofo” of a husband napped peacefully at the Holiday Inn down the street.
Oh B, as if sculptures made with cake weren’t staggeringly monumental enough, you had to go and make one of them shaped like my home state of Louisiana (on the map at least), “Momma Needs A New Pair Of Boot-Like Shoes”.
This is too much. My Magic 8 Ball say I should go and weep and laugh for a while, not sure whether from sorrow or joy, but isn’t like always that way?
Yes, it is always that way. (And if you want proof, just see my “That’s the Way The Inedible treat crumbles” sculpture.)
I hope you’ve been working on your unique works of art as well, John. I’ve seen your talent firsthand. Now all you need to do is to learn how to exploit it.
b:)
ps. Let me know if you need help with the exploitation part. It’s what I do (when I’m not sculpting, of course).
B, you are not only a talented artist, but clairvoyant as well, for I have looking for a talented Exploitationist who could bring me to the next levels of expression. Send menu and rates.
Will do, John!
I just have to figure out what the going rates are these days…
Bschooled,
You are one hot mama sculpture and storyteller!! LMAO!! Loved the paragraph on Nicholas Cage :-D. I LOL’d very loudly at the Magic 8 ball, too. You’re too much, b!!
Thank you for making me giddy before bed!!
Thank-you, TSIB. It’s always invigorating (not to mention creative-inducing) to know that my sculptures are appreciated.
It almost makes up for the fact that nobody is actually buying them. (Almost.)
b:)
You had me at ‘I am’ B. It was the same thing that the Buddha and the Jesus both said many years before you. It turned out that they were right, and so will you be!
This was an absolute monolithic expression of genius B. You ‘handled’ several different genres of art with the ease of a highly medicated prostitute with a light work load of Asian, virgin boys.
First, your writing in both style and substance blew my proverbial balls off. With sentences like “though my creations are humorless and bleak, in them there is also a sense of playfulness- an olly olly oxen-free, if you will.” It is clear that if you chose to you could give up the hand jobs completely and just write. Because even as much as you love the work it must sometimes get old, having to dig dried chunks of raison from under your fingernails every night. I just wanted you to know that you have options.
I was utterly mortified to read that you’d blown through 30 dollars in 90 minutes; that kind of fast and loose behavior can only end with pieces of you in some bookie’s foot locker at the Greyhound station. I was so relieved to learn that Don saved the day, got you out of there, helped you slay the gambling dragon (that’s what I call my addiction to gambling and to smoking opium at the same time) and even bought your mum the boot like shoes. I hope you didn’t make a mistake in letting that one slip away.
Needless to say I can see where you got all of your passion for sculpting; it was in all of your hard living. Thanks God you made it out the other side!
I AM too!
Thank-you for noticing my monolithic expression, Scott. So many people mistake it for my “Who the hell are you and what am I doing in your bed?” expression that it gets frustrating after a while. I guess that’s why we’re doppelgangers, or whatever it was I said we were before.
I realize that my fast and loose behavior is unnerving at times, but seeing as I refuse to step foot within two miles of any Greyhound station, you can rest assured that you won’t be finding any of my creative appendages there any time soon. Sadly, I did let that one slip away (don, not my Mother, of course), but like they always say, what doesn’t end up boring you to death only makes me stronger.
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Anyway, thank you so much for the compliments, Scott. It’s people like you who inspire me to be the most hard living sculptor I can be.
Yours in art,
b:)
ps. I knew you WERE! I just knew it!
A very sastifiying (yet wholy inedible) story. Much better (and more coherant) than my picture story from a couple of months ago.
Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, G. Each of your pictures alone were worth a thousand words, not to mention the actual “words” part of your story.
I’ll be lucky to get ten words out of this, and I’m pretty sure nine of them won’t be nice ones…
You’ve really outdone yourself this time B! Your hard working mother must have been very proud to follow the money trail and see that it was all well spent on a sound financial education where students never sleep, cramming night and day for “finals” at the big green table . . . or spinning wheel. I remember my own proud parents visiting when I lived above that seaside bar where I bounced nights, just as Lobsterman Tony came launching out the front door to “compost the old tree” that resided by a utility pole.
“Learned yourself some organic farming!” my dad replied, and I set them up at the bar.
To this day, they proudly boast of the “ocean view” their son’s “office” used to have.
We are so alike, you and I. They even paid for the drinks and another week’s rent above the bar!
I can only pass these vital life lessons on to my cute little daughter (after another shot, of course), and hope she follows in our foot steps; if she shows even half of your artistic ability on top of everything else, my life will be complete!
Great post, Bschooled, with signs of talent cultivated at a fine Paris art school? Aha . . . I KNEW it! I gotta get some colorful lunch . . .
Thank-you, Dan. T’is true, you and I are very much alike. In fact, were you not a male American ex-bouncer who’s parents were into organic farming, I’d swear we were the same person.
If I were you I might hold off on passing these life lessons on to your gorgeous little girl. But not because they aren’t valuable or anything (trust me, they are). Only because other people don’t seem to appreciate the extreme value in these lessons. Well, not enough to pay for them, anyway.
Thanks again, Dan. Needless to say (but I will) I’ll be dedicating my next gallery to you.
I’m deeply flattered for the dedication (and finally sober). Thanks, B!
Russian roulette table.
Even I would not LOL at this
for no one should think it’s funny.
The tables I have seen
are round with six chairs
You get six dumber people
to set in each of them there
You take a revolver
Add a bullet just one
You put on the table
A very large money sum
Put the revolver to your temple and
Pray to your God as your heart pounds
All you hear now is a very loud click
To the next person it goes, yes round and around
Now when there’s only one left
Be as happy as you can be
For all the blood covered money
Is now yours Tax free
This is perfect!
I hope you won’t mind if I use it in my upcoming promotional ads. All I need is some catchy background music and a few (naive) commercial actors, and I’m set!
Vegas is the inspiration, but the money is Mexican and the plate is from Canada’s 1967 centennial. And fruity cake! You really are an artist.
Wow! You are quite the perceptive…er, kid, Cooper Green. I was hoping someone would notice how talented and multicultural I am.
What can I say, I’m like a one-person melting pot. (Who also sculpts.)
b:)
Bschooled -
My apologies for missing your last post. I was suffering from a form of avian flu I had contracted from a chicken entree I has the misfortune of consuming during a JetBlue flight.
I was drawn to these fruitcake-like sculptures, thanks to their evocative shapes and brightly-colored and inedible highlights. Of particular interest was the Russian Roulette table which was not unlike those I attended during some R&R time in Korea.
When not otherwise detained by various ladies (and some “post-op” ladies) of the evening, the boys and I would often find ourselves nearing alcohol poisoning and looking for something to take the “edge” off.
We ended up in the basement of a rather shady dive, staring at each other and our Korean hosts over loaded revolvers. Not that this was unusual, in and of itself, as we spent a lot of time staring at (and being stared at by) Koreans, with both staring parties carrying loaded weapons.
The main difference was that this time it felt more subjective. We each took a deep breath, another life-threatening shot of feral booze and pulled the trigger. Each of breathed a sigh of relief with the click of a hammer falling on an empty chamber.
At this point our host demanded to see the revolver. He opened it only to discover that not a single bullet had been loaded. He loudly questioned our manhood and made several delterious remarks as to our upbringing in various whore-filled households.
As we attempted to defend both our honor and our promiscuous mothers’, he loaded the gun and demanded our wallets at gunpoint. Still feeling cocky from our “near-death” experience, we flipped him off and made a run for it.
Fortunately, he was a terrible shot and we only lost one man to a gutshot. We would not have left him behind but he yelled for us to “go on without him.” We did, as quickly as we could, ignoring his following shouts of “You bastards! I can’t believe you’re leaving me here! Where’s your honor?”
Ah. Those were the days. No one remembers them quite as well as Wilcox’s litigious widow, who is still garnishing my monthly stipend for a wrongful death suit.
Sincerely,
Clifton L. Tanager
I live for these stories, Clifton. Keep ‘em coming.
I’m sorry to hear you were out of sorts, Clifton.
It’s because of airplane food that I always make sure to pack a sausage roll in my carry on bag. Sure. it may mean having to lie to the Immigration Officers (Huh? Why the hell would I be bringing meat across the border?) , but for the amount of times they actually check, it’s worth it.
Like Elizabeth, I too live for your uncut and unvarnished anecdotes. Though I must admit I did feel a little anxious while reading this one. Whether it was the post-op ladies, the Korean/American staring contest (Can you say awkward???), or the fact that your ill-fated friend deserved his ill-fate (it’s not like you’re a mind reader or anything), It’s tough to say.
All I know is that I’m lucky I wasn’t alive back then, and even luckier that “whore” is now considered a subjective word.
As always, thank-you for sharing such an enlightening story. Your mother may have been promiscuous, but if your siblings are (or were) half as charming and well-versed as you, she was obviously doing something right.
Late on the scene as my new post alert subscription seems to have collapsed, sorry! I quite like playing rorsach style “what can you see in a slice of fruitcake”?