Thursday 30 November 2023

Scenes from an Imaginary Folk Festival #4

I sculpted another character for my 'May Parade' this past weekend. He's Denzil the Drum and he leads the parade along with the Mock Mayor.

I started, as always, with a sketch and then a rough armature of aluminium wire and kitchen foil.


I then fleshed out the figure with a mix of Super Sculpey and CosClay. CosClay has some flexibility after baking whereas Sculpey is rigid. But both clays can be used together. Here's a video of the build:


I'm really rather pleased with this one and - like the previous sculpts - I've learned some new techniques along the way.




Who will be next to join the parade I wonder?

Wednesday 29 November 2023

The big freeze

Despite November having been oine of the wrmest on record we're currently 'enjoying' a cold snap with overnight temperatures of -3 and daytime temperatures rarely creeping above zero. But it is bright and dry at least and the air is crisp and fresh.

And it makes for some great photos.









Tuesday 28 November 2023

London at Christmas

The West End around Piccadilly and Soho looking wonderfully festive. And I'm feeling festive too after drinks with good friends at the Soho Whisky Club and then Jazz After Dark in Greek Street.


Sunday 26 November 2023

The mystery of Star Jelly

There were two separate posts on Facebook this week where people were discussing finds of mysterious gelatinous blobs - Star Jelly. 

Star jelly (also known as astromyxin, star-fallen, star-jelly, star-shot, star-slime, star-slough, star-slubber, star-spurt, star-slutch or astral jelly) is a bit of a mystery. It usually turns up in the spring and appears as lumps of a gelatinous substance found on grass or, occasionally, in the branches of trees. 


According to folklore, it is deposited on the Earth during meteor showers. Other explanations have ranged from it being the remains of frogs, toads, or worms, to the byproducts of cyanobacteria, to being the fruiting bodies of jelly fungi or masses of amoeba called slime moulds. 

Reports of the substance date back to the 14th century and have continued to the present. They even feature in works by writers and poets such as John Dryden (1697): 

When I had taken up what I supposed a fallen star I found I had been cozened with a jelly. 

And Sir Walter Scott (1825): 

"Seek a fallen star," said the hermit, "and thou shalt only light on some foul jelly, which, in shooting through the horizon, has assumed for a moment an appearance of splendour." 

Physician John of Gaddesden (1280–1361) mentions stella terrae (Latin for 'star of the earth' or 'earth-star') in his medical writings, describing it as "a certain mucilaginous substance lying upon the earth" and suggesting that it might be used to treat abscesses. A fourteenth-century Latin medical glossary has an entry for uligo, described as "a certain fatty substance emitted from the earth, that is commonly called 'a star which has fallen'". Similarly, an English-Latin dictionary from around 1440 has an entry for sterre slyme with the Latin equivalent given as assub (a rendering of Arabic ash-shuhub, also used in medieval Latin as a term for a "falling" or "shooting" star). In Welsh it has been referred to as pwdre ser meaning "rot from the stars". 

But what is it? 


You will be surprised to hear that it has baffled people for centuries and, even now, the origin of Star Jelly isn’t known for certain. The most common theory is that it is regurgitated frog spawn from frog-eating predators. This is supported by the findings of the BBC who in 2015 sent a specimen to the National History Museum for DNA testing. The results showed it as primarily frog, but with a small amount of magpie. Suggesting that a magpie attacked a frog, and then couldn’t digest all of it and and regurgitated what was left. 


Whatever the truth, some observers have made a connection between star jelly and the Paramount movie The Blob (1958), in which a gelatinous monster falls from space. The film was supposedly based on UFO reports from Philadelphia in 1950 and specifically a report in The Philadelphia Inquirer called 'Flying Saucer Just Dissolves' where four police officers encountered UFO debris that was described as evaporating with a purple glow leaving nothing behind but jelly. Paramount Pictures was also sued for this movie by the author Joseph Payne Brennan, who had written a short story published in Weird Tales Magazine in 1953 called Slime about a similar creature. 

I've only ever found some once in my life when I was around 16-17 years old and on grassy moorland in Cornwall.

Seems a odd place to start an alien invasion.


Friday 24 November 2023

One hour trashbug challenge ... ok six hours

'Hey Stevyn!' said one of my social media chums recently. 'How long does it take to make a trashbug?' 

'How long is a piece of string?' I replied. 

'Twice the length of the halfway point to one of the ends,' said my smartarse chum. 'But seriously - how long?' 

It's a tricky question to answer. But it's an important one to address because it dictates the cost of my finished sculptures. 

People often moan about the fact that art can be expensive.  

'My five year old could have done that!' they say as they stare at a scribbled abstract painting by Cy Twombly that is valued at $60 million.

Yes, but they didn't did they?


Photo by Blake Cheek on Unsplash

I'm not in Twombly's league. But my sculptures can still cost hundreds of pounds.

'But your stuff is made from throwaway free junk!' say the critics. 'How can you justify your prices?' 

It is true that plastic packaging costs me nothing, other than what I paid when purchasing what was originally inside it. But every sculpture does cost me time and effort. And time is money. 

The National Minimum Wage is (currently) £11.44 per hour for someone my age. Let's imagine that's all I charge my customers, plus  around 50p to cover the cost of materials like glue, varnish and paints. £12 per hour is a nice round figure to calculate with. And let's also say that I only charge for assembly and painting time - I don't charge for the hours spent waiting for paint and glue to dry, even if I do often engage in holding a heat gun over a model to speed things up.  

So, what could I make you for £12? What can I achieve in an hour? I thought I'd try to find out. 

So I set a timer and off I went. 

As I was on the clock, all I could afford was a very quick rummage in my junk boxes. Making sculptures from junk isn't like making a Lego kit where you have bespoke cast pieces and a set of instructions to go by. Trash bashing or scratch building means having an eye for certain shapes and seeing their potential. Then you have to see how they fit together, which can mean modifying them by cutting pieces away or altering their shape with knives or sandpaper or even fire. 

I found the spray mechanism of a kitchen bleach bottle and pulled it all apart. I used the top panel and part of the trigger to make a body and head. I added two small plastic bearings for eyes and some balsa wood offcuts for jaws. Then I broke some tines off a couple of plastic forks and made legs by bending them over a tealight candle. I made the slightly longer rear legs by melting and fusing two tines together for each. Then I gave it a spray of white primer. 

I checked the clock. I'd already passed the hour mark by eight minutes. Here's what you get for £12 at minimum wage level. It's very simple and it's small - it fits comfortably in the palm of my hand.
But, out of interest, I decided to carry on. 

I make my insects look like machines. That meant adding some more detail and a paint job to match.

I therefore added some googly eyes for joints, and a piece from inside the spray bottle trigger as an exhaust vent. I then painted them before adding layers of ink washes, dry-brushed metallic paints and fake rust (grated chalk pastels mixed with paint) to create texture and to give the impression of weathered metal. 

I was now at the three hour mark and nowhere near finished. 

I'd been working as quickly as possible. Which is why, even after three hours, it doesn't look great. It's rushed and clumsy and not even close to my usual standard of work. And yes, I realise that a ladybird's spots don't work like that as the body should have a central split to form the wing cases. Durrr. One absolute certainty with this kind of assemblage art is that you'll discover things that don't work along the way. It's a constant problem solving exercise and you will frequently change things or try doing them a different way in order to get the best possible result. 

However, here's the point. 

Even working for the minimum wage, I would need to charge around £36 for this small below-par bug. 

But I don't work for minimum wage. 

Most professional technicians - like plumbers, electricians or car mechanics - earn, on average, around twice the minimum wage. Many earn a lot more. You're not just paying for their time but for their expertise too. It will have taken them years, and quite a lot of money, time and effort, to get good at what they do. Artists are no different. They have hard-earned skills and knowledge ... and they have to pay bills too.

So my shoddy little unfinished ladybird should actually cost you around £70 at least. Or even more. It is unique, after all.

'Seventy quid?!' I hear you cry. 'But all you did was stick some bits of plastic together and paint them!' 

Yes I did. And you could do the same. In fact, I actively encourage you to have a go because making art is always a good and positive thing to do. But you will find that it's not as easy as it looks. It takes time to develop an eye for seeing potential in the junk. Practice will make you better at doing it. You can also learn the various painting techniques and the pros and cons of using certain adhesives with different forms of plastics - but that takes time too. And you'll start to get a sense of why I, and other artists, charge the prices that we do. We're simply asking for a reasonable return on the time and effort we've put into making art for you.

So there you go. 

Meanwhile, I couldn't leave the trashbug looking like that. So, I had a rummage in my junk boxes and found a few interesting bits and pieces. They inspired me to try a complete rebuild. Perhaps I could produce something as bizarre as these real life beetles?
That's a rhinoceros beetle and a Hercules beetle. But just the rhinoceros beetles alone come with a staggering range of bizarre headwear:
Amazing aren't they? 

I decided my beetle would have something like that. And here's what I came up with.
Then I mounted it on two interestingly-shaped pieces of bark and half of an old ribbon reel painted blue.


I reckon that's much better, don't you? 

It meant a total of six hours of work (not including paint-drying time) but I think the extra effort was worth it.

Do you? 

But would you pay the going rate for it I wonder?


Thursday 23 November 2023

A butterfly by any other name

Back when I was a QI 'Elf' and researching and writing the BBC TV show, I also worked on its Radio 4 sister show The Museum of Curiosity. If you don't know the show, it's hosted by QI creator John Lloyd (the man who also gave us Not the Nine O'Clock News, Spitting Image, Blackadder and co-wrote some bits of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with Douglas Adams) and a comedian guest curator. Then three people - usually one from the sciences, one from the arts and one from entertainment - are invited onto the show to donate something that they think is brilliant. 

It's a wonderful radio show and a much-needed antidote to more whingeing pessimistic shows like Room 101 or Grumpy Old Men. It also meant that I got to work with some astounding people including Buzz Aldrin, Sir David Frost, Terry Pratchett, Sean Lock, Maggie Aderin-Pocock, Ken Dodd, Neil Gaiman, Pamela Stephenson and so many more.
Comedian and impressionist Harry Enfield was a guest on one of the shows and during the course of his episode, he told this joke: 

Five translators are arguing about which of their languages is the most beautiful. The English interpreter says, 'Oh, it’s English – English is so expressive. Think of the word butterfly. It gives you a wonderful image of a tiny creature flitting through the air. Beautiful.' Then the Frenchman says, 'Ah non, the French word for butterfly is so light, so airy – papillon ... papillon ... as light and delicate as tissue paper.' But then the Italian chips in and says, 'Surely the Italian is the most expressive? Farfalle. It even sounds like the beat of a butterfly's wings in the summer air.' But the Spanish interpreter disagrees. 'You're all wrong', he says. 'The Spanish word for butterfly is the most beautiful of all. Listen – mariposa ... mariposa ...' At which point the German translator frowns and says, 'And what is wrong with Schmetterling?' 

It's a fun joke, albeit a bit dated, but Harry was using it in the context of celebrating language as Humankind's greatest invention. It also led to an interesting off-microphone discussion about the word 'butterfly'. It's a curious linguistic anomaly that almost every language has a different word for the animal and that none of these words are linguistically related. Is there any other word that has so many  different translations? I can't think of one. 

Here are a few examples:

 Acoma (Native American)  - buh’rai 
Afrikaans (South Africa) - skoenlapper, vlinder 
Assamese (India) - pokhila 
Austria - falter 
Berber (North Africa) - tèfètuth 
Bulgarian (Bulgaria) - peperooda
Chechen (Chechnya)  - polla 
Czech - motýl 
Dagon - peplim 
Danish - sommerfugl 
Dutch - vlindeer
Farsi (Iran) - parvanè 
Gaelic (Ireland) - féileacán
Gujarati (India) - atangeo
Hmong (Vietnam) - pau npaim 
Hungarian - lepke pillango
Inuit (Greenland) - pakkaluak
Romanes "Gypsy" - peperuga 
Kamaba (Kenya) - kimbalut'ya 
Latvian (Latvia) - taurin
Malagasy (Madagascar) - lolo Malayalam 
Nepali (Nepal) - putali 
Romanian - fluture
Serbian - leptir 
Setwana (Botswana) - serurubele 
Sumatra Barat (Indonesia) - angiak 
Swedish (Sweden) - fjäril 
Tatar (a Turkic language) - kübelek 
Tok Pisin (New Guinea) - bataplai 
Welsh (Wales) - iâr fach yr haf 
West Armenian - titernig 
Wik-Ngathan (Australia) - kalpakalpay 

To see a full list of over 300 translations of 'butterfly' visit this site.

Isn't that extraordinary?

Tuesday 21 November 2023

The Goblins will get you!

I recently came across an extraordinary series of photographs from the 1920s that are genuine nightmare fuel. 

The Goblins Will Get You If You Don’t Watch Out is a photo story in which a little girl is abducted from her bed by hellish creatures. The images would have been even more frighteniong when they were first published as they were created for use with a stereoscopic viewer. 

The story itself is based on an 1885 poem by James Whitcomb Riley, author of the bestselling book Rhymes of Childhood. The poem was originally called The Elf Child, but Riley changed it in a 1899 printing to Little Orphant Allie, that rogue ‘t’ the result of a typesetter’s error. The book was selling by the millions and people like the ‘orphant’, so it remained. 

The title Little Orphan Annie was duly adopted in a daily American comic strip created by Harold Gray and syndicated by the Tribune Media Services, making its debut on August 5th 1924, in the New York Daily News. Little Orphan Annie inspired a radio show in 1930, film adaptations by RKO in 1932 and Paramount in 1938 and a Broadway musical Annie in 1977 (which was adapted into a film of the same name three times, one in 1982, one in 1999 and another in 2014). 

I don't remember the Goblins though ... 

Here's the poem and the images. Enjoy!

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay, 
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away, 
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep, 
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep; 
An’ all us other childern, when the supper-things is done, 
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun 
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about, 
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you 
Ef you 
Don’t 
Watch 
Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers, 
— An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs, 
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl, 
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all! 
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press, 
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess; 
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout: 
— An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you 
Ef you 
Don’t 
Watch 
Out!
An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin, 
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin; 
An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there, 
She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, an’ said she didn’t care! 
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide, 
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side, 
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about! 
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you 
Ef you 
Don’t 
Watch 
Out!
An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, 
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo! 
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray, 
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away, 
— You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear, 
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear, 
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about, 
Er the Gobble-uns ‘ll git you 
Ef you 
Don’t 
Watch 
Out! 


 – Little Orphant Annie, Indianapolis Journal, November 15th 1885