B’s Unique Play-Doh Sculptures

.

ARTIST STATEMENT

.

I am a sculptor.  I come from a long line of relatives known for making things with their hands.

As a child, my mother would entertain me with her majestic-looking shadow puppets, and I have clear memories of my Father making obscene yet thought-provoking gestures at my French-Canadian Grandmother. Really, they are the ones who fueled my passion for art.

Despite being religious, my Play-Doh sculptures are atheist in nature. If asked to elaborate, I could say that despite attending church on special occasions, my sculptures do not attend church, ever. Then again, I could say something else. It just depends.

I have always had a fascination with the past, as I believe it holds the key to our history.  In fact, sometimes  I become so caught up in the past that my sculptures end up wearing braids and a bonnet, carrying their lunch in a pail and answering to the name “Half-Pint”.

When people ask where my art originates from, I smile.

Because really, they just had to be there.

.

.

*The following works are from my “Innocence Lost” Gallery. Please be inspired at your own risk.

.

.

.

“Innocence Lost

.

.

“This Is Your Brain On Drugs”- Bschooled


The vision for this breathtaking masterpiece came to me back in grade one and-a-half.  (Even though I’d started out the year in grade one, when my standardized test results revealed my IQ to be that of a developmentally-delayed grade two student, the principal had no choice but to advance me.)

One day, while studying the unit on Behavioral Neuroscience, the teacher decided to demonstrate  how various drug-environment interactions affected the neurobehavioral plasticity involved in the pathophysiology of addiction.

Picking up an egg, she told us that it was our brain. She then cracked our brain open, pouring the contents into a skillet that had been heating over a Bunsen burner.

Needless to say, I was shocked. The idea that something as seemingly harmless as hardcore amphetamines could turn the brain into a popular breakfast choice, was too much for my young mind to bear.

From that moment on, I vowed never to get high on anything but life.

.

.

.

\\.

.

“Hooked on a Feeling” -Bschooled

.

The vision of ironic resplendency came to fruition while I was  juggling the pressures of being  a both borderline genius and “the popular kid”.  I was burning out. Fast.

One afternoon, while desperately trying to muster up enough energy to show off my awe-inspiring monkey bar-swinging skills, a dodgy-looking grade three student sidled up beside me. I could tell by the way she wore her “Hello Kitty” shirt, the bottom tucked carelessly into the neck exposing her pale and fleshy midriff, that she was no stranger to danger.

“My name’s Trixie,” she said, revealing a mouthful of braces surrounded in goth-like black elastics. “But you can call me Trix.”

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t resist. “Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!” I replied, only half-joking.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I was in over my head.

“Looks like you could use one of these,” she said, pulling out an oddly shaped pill from her Miss Pac Man knapsack and handing it to me. Then, sensing my hesitation, she reached over and forced it into my clenched fist. “What’s your damage?” she said. “It’s no biggie. Besides, the first one’s free.”

Knowing I had no other choice, I took the pill.

And less than ten minutes later, I was flying across those monkey bars like…well, like a junked-up monkey.

.

..

.

“Monkey on my Back” -Bschooled


This life-changing piece unhinged itself from my mind in a moment of pure, unadulterated adrenalin. I was hooked. Drugs had become my drug of choice, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it.

That night, I was jonesing something fierce. When my mother found me digging through her medicine cabinet trying to open a box of glycerin suppositories with my teeth, I knew my gig was up. “What’s wrong with you?” she screamed.  “Why are you shaking like that? And why is there icing sugar under  your nose?”

I told her to quit harshing my buzz, but I knew it was no use. Finally, I broke down and confessed everything. .

.


.

.

.

.

“Cold Turkey”- Bschooled

.*While technically “The Snuggie” wasn’t invented yet, I sculpted it around the turkey anyway, purely for symbolic reasons.

.

My mother held a last-minute intervention, and after hearing an emotional plea from Delores, our two-doors-down neighbor, I finally agreed to get help.

I spent the next three hours in an intensive detox program in the attic-turned-rehabilitation center. And while I was busy “getting the lead out”, my mother was busy calling 911.

.

.

.

“Help From The Doh-knot Patrol” -Bschooled

.

A police officer went to the school to confront Trix. Afraid she’d be given an extensive cavity search, she told him that the pill wasn’t a Methamphetamine, but rather a “Flinstone Vitamin,” something I’d never heard of since my parents were firm believers in the healing power of love and cod liver oil.

While the confession left me with a lot of unanswered questions, it did explain the fruity taste, and why my dopaminergic degeneration/ meth-mouth test had come back negative.

Regardless, the experience changed me forever. Not only did it teach me a valuable lesson about the importance of something relating to something drug-related, it also brought me closer to our neighbor Delores, who showed me that unconditional love in the form of 100-proof whiskey is the only drug I’ll ever need.

.

.

.

A few weeks later, I asked my Magic-8-Ball Paper Sculpture if my dream of becoming a famous, six-figure earning Play-Doh sculptor would one day come true. And do you want to know what it said?

.

.

“Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” -Bschooled

.

.

(FYI, when I tried again I got “It is decidedly so.”)

.

.

*Thank-you for revering my brilliant works. If you’d like to place an order, email me at bschooled@hotmail.com for a quote. (Please note the average piece will take approximately 4-6 weeks to go from my mind to your grateful hands.)

.

Advertisements

Comments

  1. “Monkey on my Back” really touched me. How much is it?

  2. Is that Play Doh? I’m thinking of ordering a sculpture, but I’m concerned about if its color will fade when it dries out?

    • Don’t worry, thoughtsappear. All of my sculptures come with a pinky-swear guarantee.

      (Just be careful when you take the pinky out of the box, it’s extremely fragile.)

  3. The magic 8-ball sculpture won’t let go of my gaze. I was lost in its aura for a good 22 minutes. Will these be on Etsy or directly ordered through your site? Also, are the sayings on this exquisitely folded and textured 8-ball customizable?

    • Dr. Cynicism,

      I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the sayings on the magic 8-ball paper sculpture aren’t customizable.

      But the good news is that because there are only two, the chances of you eventually hitting pay dirt are pretty much guaranteed…

      ps. I’ll email you one of my catalogs, along with a coupon for free shipping. Really, it’s the least I could do.

  4. It’s good to see that you’re staying true to your artistic roots. I can’t stand those sell-outs who use Pro-Doh.

  5. So that’s what happened to Delores Del Rio after her tempestuous affair with Orson Wells. She moved to your street and took up drug counselling.

    Does the Doh-knot come in khaki? I could use it as a prop during one of my constipation lectures

    • Haha! Quit being so perspicacious, NM. Every time I have to Google people I should already know of, I feel like my GED was just a big waste of time.

      ps. If yellow and blue make green, I’m thinking that green and brown might make khaki? I’ll have to get back to you on that…

  6. Everyone needs a Delores . . . and this truly inspiring story. I had to show little Gwen the turkey-in-a-snuggie, because she asked why daddy was “giggling like my eight-year-old friends if they were possessed by Satan.”

    So observant and appreciative of fallen angels. She loved the turkey, B schooled, and has a pink snuggie that would perfectly match the turkey and make it look like it was beheaded in a gruesome fashion, but I digress — or lose my place — hard to tell these days. Ummmm . . . hold for clarity . . .

    Horsey! No!

    There! I need some cod liver oil, to recover from giggling. The intro alone was proof enough that you are one of The Hystericals, and in very good company!

    • Aww! I’m so glad you showed Gwen the turkey-in-a-snuggie, mostly because I created it, but also because she loved it.

      Which reminds me, I also found a special snuggie that you might enjoy, only because it’s being worn by one of the best actresses that the Oxygen network has ever worked with. I was going to save it and show you for Christmas (I like to give visual presents, only because I can steal them online), but what the hell.

      Let’s face it, Dan; nobody rocks a snuggie like Tori Spelling…

  7. You may need to have Denny’s baby.

  8. I get the same warm fuzzy feeling seeing your “Hooked on a Feeling” as I do hearing B.J. Thomas sing “Hooked on a Feeling.”

  9. I have to say that you are one talented sculptor and I really enjoyed the 8 ball…made me laugh out loud!

    • Thanks, Amie!

      Truth be told it’s actually just a “2 ball”. Or, a “2 crumpled oblong-shaped thing”.

      But I find that calling it an “8 ball” is better for business.

  10. This was probably my favorite series of sculptures I have ever witnessed but, truth be told, it was the text that sold me on the pieces.

    I’m recommending this post to all of my facebook friends and relatives.

    • You’re too kind, Posky. Just for that, I’m sending you a free play-doh sculpture of your avatar. (It’s the least I could do.)

      ps. While you’re at it, do you think you could recommend that your Facebook friends and relatives buy the post as well? (It’s the only way I can think of to “keep the dream alive”.)

  11. I think you’ve finally hit pay dirt B.

    Way to go maestro.

  12. I don’t expect the opportunity to arise, but if you were to ask me, “Cooper, how do you like your eggs?” I will be sure to respond, “Not pink”. But thanks for asking, in advance.

  13. How much for a Snuggie that would fit me? Would it be comfortable, and how does it smell? Does it stink like Play Doh? My feet are cold. Oh, and if it cracks, is there a service agreement with a handsome carrier that will pick it up at my door, because I won’t be able to carry it to the car to ship it back to you if it weighs too much. If you want me to repair the cracks, that is out, b. I gave up ceramics years ago. I have a manicure to think about, you kno’? ;-)

    Thanks, b!

    • I could totally sculpt you one, TSIB (it’s what I do), but to tell you the truth you probably wouldn’t want a human-size Play-Doh Snuggie. (Only because the bulkiness of the material makes it hard to lie on the couch and hold your bowl of popcorn.)

      But the good news is that I’m thinking of getting into “Salad sculpting”.

      So, if things work out the way I hope they do (fingers crossed!), guess who’s getting a new lounging outfit!

  14. God I wish my mom would have let me have a “Miss Pac Man” backpack instead of a “Hey, Hey, Hey, It’s Fat Albert ” lunchbox :(

  15. Awesome post, lady. This is also a test post. I think I’ve figured out a way to get back to normal.

  16. My God woman, your art just gets more and more artistic. Seriously, you are the Next Great Canadian Play Doh Master. And that’s a pretty big deal. I think it even comes with a bunch of capital letters but I may be wrong.

    It sounds (and artistically translates) that you went straight to a too speedy (don’t you hate that?) hell but made it out the other side with your strong faith and prayer. Although not the religious kind because that would just be retarded.

    You know how much I enjoy drugs B. Alcohol is my kryptonite but I could happily spend the rest of my life getting high naturally off of what God gave us for free and chemists made a whole lot better. I’m even on drugs right now but they are only the cold medicine kind. I wish you were over here to show me how to cook meth with them.

    I’m sorry that your drug experience didn’t work out. My advice is to just keep trying until you find something that makes you feel like your brain just had sex with your solar plexus on the deck of a dopamine love boat. Just don’t give up; you are way too talented for that!

    • You’re right, Scott. Sometimes I just get so impatient.

      When my friends call to tell me that their brain just had sex with their solar plexus on the deck of a dopamine love boat I can’t help but think, “When is it going to be my turn?”

      Sometimes I wonder if I blew my chance when I let my brain have sex with the solar plexus’s of the entire Football team, under the bleachers of a dopamine astro-turfed playing field.

      (It’s a long story, I’ll have to sculpt it for you sometime.)

  17. While timeless, I only wish yr sculptures had come into my life sooner. Say, around the 2nd grade when I was under the serious delusion that chewing a Minte was giving me the same nicotine hit as Chew Tobacco. I developed a serious chewing addiction that has been with me ever since. And even though its too late for yr sculptures to help me, I still find them inspiring.

    Thanks for sharing bschooled.

    • I feel your pain, Ruby.

      Turns out the Flinstone vitamin was a gateway drug, leading to my nicotine-infused licorice nibs addiction.

      I think the worst part is that I didn’t find out until years later that it wasn’t actually licorice, but rather lipstick-stained cigarette butts that my friend stole from her mother’s car ashtray.

  18. elizabeth3hersh says:

    Sonofabitch!! Cheap shot…I know, but now that I have your attention: you know how the ‘organizers’ tell you to chuck anything you have not used in the last year? Then, merely days later, you actually have a use for said item, but are too cheap/peeved to go out and purchase it again? Well, I just threw away our modeling clay a day or two before this illustrious post. What was I going to create? Why, my neighbor Mr. Little on drugs, of course. Black fedora, huge crucifix, metallic green shorts, sunglasses, knife, boombox, facial slash marks, blood (ketchup) filled tiny water bottles and a balcony. Oh, and paramedics carting him off on a stretcher. I can’t tell you how many times I have thrown something away, then discovered I needed it after all. Seriously, bschooled, I have not had this much fun with clay figures since the Mr. Bill show on SNL. I guess I should get some clay after all, so we can get busy crafting our newfangled tampon line (I love the one shaped like a bass whose open mouth ‘cups’ the cervix).

    If you keep this up, bschooled, I’m going to book you in Vegas.

    • HA!!! That’s brilliant, Elizabeth!

      The boombox and facial slash marks alone would have been worth a couple of George Washingtons. (Not sure how much that is, exactly, but my American friends say it all the time. And really, money is money…)

      Fear not, E. While it pales in comparison to your unfulfilled work of art, I’m working on a new “tour de force” that I will be dedicating to you.

      ps. Just out of curiosity, does Mr. Little happen to have a beard?

      pps. About the clay tampon sculptures, I was thinking we might want to do something a little more “avante-garde”. How do you feel about eggplant?

      • elizabeth3hersh says:

        No beard, but he does look interesting. Late 40s, shoulder length wavy blond hair, sunglasses, insanely expensive hand-tooled leather jacket, couture hats…the dude has some serious cash flow…lives like a high ranking cartel member, but his thought processes are too fragmented and disorganized to even pump gas (besides, the fumes might exacerbate his condition).

        Haha!! A vegetable tampon line!! Eggplant is good as long as we remember to market it as’ aubergine’ overseas. Maybe we can get Mr. Little to invest in our little enterprise!

        • Crap…ok, well maybe he’ll grow one before my next gallery showing. (Fingers crossed!)

          Is it weird that I wish he was my neighbor? Actually, don’t answer that…I already know it is.

  19. elizabeth3hersh says:

    Oops…maybe you can fix my boo-boo above.

  20. I think that monkey on the back thingy is a bit gay, d0n’t you think? Is that what they mean by Monkey Love? I want one :-)

  21. B, you have got one strange sense of humor!! i’ll bet you’re a blast at parties!! do you do tricks too?

    • Lynn! Are you back yet?

      (Oh, nevermind. I just checked and you’re not.)

      I don’t usually do tricks at parties (well, unless you consider “drinking everyone’s booze and then violently expunging the contents of my stomach onto the carpet” a trick).

      But if you invite me to one, I’m sure I’ll think of something?

      It’s great to hear from you, Lynn. I hope you and Rip are doing well!

  22. ps you are now in my ‘roll’ funny lady

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s