B’s Sculptures

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I am a contemporary artist who specializes in the art of kitchen appliance/non-perishable food items  sculpting.

My parents were artists as well, which is undoubtedly how I developed such a true appreciation for the craft. My father was a car mechanic who built creative-yet functional sculptures under the hoods of various Chevrolet models (mainly those built between 1969-1978), and  my Mother was a Secretary/Aspiring Rug Hooker, who had a unique gift for turning otherwise mundane yarn into visually-stimulating  farmhouse motifs.

Being raised in this creative environment gave me the freedom to grow artistically, absorbing the foundations in both composition and design.

I delight in using bold, brand-name appliances like Bosch, KitchenAid,  Cuisinart, even the odd Ron Popeil contrivance. I then add various non-perishable food items, and the result is an enticing, unique shape  compelling the viewer to realize the magic is not in the materials themselves, but rather in the hand that morphed these materials into pieces of extreme brilliance and short-term non-functionality.

 

The following kitchen appliance/non-perishable food items sculptures belong to my “Leaving the Nest” Gallery. I hope these masterpieces evoke as much emotion in you as they have in me over the years (if not more).

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B’s “Leaving the Nest”

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123 “Step Off my Grill…” -Bschooled

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The vision for this piece came to me while I was going through a turbulent period in my life.

I had just graduated from College (give or take a few dozen credits), and was looking to find my “true calling”. However, because I am directionally-challenged and suffer from a mild case of vertigo, I decided it would  be best to sit on the couch watching TV all day, so my true calling could instead find me.

Unfortunately, my Mother didn’t feel the same way. Ever since the Doctors severed the ambilical cord that at one time had connected us,  it felt as though we no longer shared the same mindset.

She would continuously try to coerce me into doing illogical things,  like contributing financially to the household, or performing chore-like duties  in such a way as to belittle my skills (I had taken my Bachelor of Arts in college and therefore had a varied and extensive education).

“Will you please clean your room?” she’d occasionally ask, in a tone that wasn’t always pleasant.

It was a horrible experience, one that I pray no other 25 year-old will ever have to endure.

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046“The Hand That Rocks the Ladle” -Bschooled

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I created this magnum opus after finally coming to terms with the fact that this woman–the same one who’d allowed me to stay rent-free in her womb only a quarter of a century earlier– was  suffering from a severe mental illness.

She starting asking bizarre questions, like “When are you going to start pulling your own weight?” and “As long as you live under this roof, you will NOT be bringing random guys home from the bar at 3am…do you hear me??”

It wasn’t that I couldn’t hear her (she was standing less than two feet away at the time),  it  was that the words coming out of her mouth were completely absurd. It was obvious she needed professional help, and since I wasn’t a Psychiatrist, nor did I have good enough grades to get into a school for aspiring Psychiatrists, I knew I had to leave.

I also knew this because she kicked me out.

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102“The Frugal Gourmet”-Bschooled

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She wrote me a cheque for $400 which, when added to my savings, left me with an impressive total of almost $411 dollars.

I found a basement suite on Craigslist, and even though the bathroom wasn’t finished and it reeked of cat urine, I knew it was better than the alternative.

(*sidenote-the alternative was becoming a squatter, however back then I didn’t have the thigh muscles required in order to remain in that uncomfortable position for extended periods of time)

I used the leftover $11 to buy groceries, and while making my very first meal (ever!), the inspiration for the above work of art came to fruition.

Unfortunately, because I was too broke to create a “Putting the Fruit in Fruition” sculpture, I had to settle for the minimalistic yet equally endearing frugal gourmet piece.

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121“Mother Can You Spare a Dime?” -Bschooled

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*FYI, when I created this piece I didn’t actually have a dime, so I was forced to use two nickels instead.

This stunnilingus was spawned when the cable company told me I’d have to pay for their services.

Needless to say, I was devastated.  Cable had been a part of my life since I was six-months old, and it felt like I had lost a family member (only much worse). Desperate, I did the only thing I could do. I reached for the phone to call my Mother.

You can just imagine the angst I  felt when I discovered that it, too, was not in service. Having no other choice, I grabbed my jacket and went to see her in person.

Public transport is yet another thing I pray no other 25 year-old will ever have to endure.

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040“Tongs for Nothing!” -Bschooled

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The emotions I felt while creating this one-two-punch were inexplicable. However, since I am a true artist, I will try my best to explicate them.

Anger, angst, Trophonian, bathed in tears, begrutten, blatant, curkling, dacryagogue, dissolved in tears, elegiac, epiphoric, flebile, illachrymable, in mourning, in sackcloth and ashes, in tears, lachrimose, lachrymal, lamenting, larmoyant, like Niobe all tears, mournful, mugient, plaintful, plaintive, querimonious, querulous, remugient, sorrowful, sorrowing, tearful, weeping, with moisture in one’s eyes, with tears in one’s eyes, and with watery eyes, just to name a few.

My Mother denied me, her firstborn and favorite child, the gift of life in monetary form. She said I had to learn “to survive on my own”, and that her decision not to help me out financially hurt her more than it hurt me.

I found that hard to believe, because I was hurting “something fierce” and I knew that her threshold for pain wasn’t all that high.

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118 “Eye of the Grinder” -Bschooled

This could very well be one of my most majestic creations of all.

I was sitting in my unfurnished basement suitelost and alone, trying to think of ways I could earn money without having to give up my free time. “What would Sylvester Stallone in Rocky III do?” I asked myself.

Unfortunately, because I’d never actually seen the movie, I really had no idea.

Suddenly, my Mother showed up at my door. She felt horrible for treating me so horrible-like and begged for my forgiveness. I made her sweat it out a little, but in the end I knew that because she was family, I had no choice but to forgive and forget.

She also agreed to double my allowance, but really, that’s neither here nor there.

We hugged it out, and after drying our teary eyes, we packed up my stuff and headed back home.

Thankfully it all worked out in the end, and now whenever I look at this magnificent and compelling piece, I’m reminded of a famous quote I once heard-

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“Risin’ up, back on the street, did my time, took my chances. Went the distance now I’m back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive…”

-Anonymous

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.After it was all over, I went to my magic 8-ball paper sculpture and asked, “So, Magic 8-Ball…do I have what it takes to be a successful Kitchen Appliance/Non-Perishable Food Item Sculptor?”

 

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020 “Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” -Bschooled

 

 

I knew it!

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I hope you’ve enjoyed my blood, sweat and tears. And remember, if you’re interested in purchasing any of the above brilliant works, please don’t hesitate to contact me for a quote. (prices may vary depending on annual income and/or net-worth of customer.)

 

 

B’s Unique Play-Doh Sculptures

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ARTIST STATEMENT

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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.

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

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“Innocence Lost

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“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.

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“Hooked on a Feeling” -Bschooled

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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.

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“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. .

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“Cold Turkey”- Bschooled

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

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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.

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“Help From The Doh-knot Patrol” -Bschooled

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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.

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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?

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“Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” -Bschooled

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

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*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.)

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