Art

If you were following my blog last year during Festival of Fear, you may recall my post where I talked about wanting a certain print from Toronto artist Ghoulish Gary Pullin. Sadly, he didn't have any in 2009. I still walked away with a beautiful Frankenstein print (that looks fantastic framed, by the way), but when you have your heart set on one particular thing, it's hard to let it go.

It was the Fido image I was coveting. Not only is it easily one of my top zombie movies of all time (plus it's Canadian, and it has Billy Connolly as a zombie), but the artwork is stunning. So it should be no surprise that the very first thing I did when my table was set up on Friday was head over to Gary and lay claim to a copy of the print (pictured right).

The surprise (at least to me) came on Saturday. My table was buzzing with people (at the convention it went in waves: it was like you either had no one around or 5 people at once wanting to buy something), and in the middle of packing up an item I look up and see Gary.

No, that's not the surprise.

Mr. Phibious T. Toadlington is filthy.

And proud of it.

He wears rags and old sacks for his cloak and scarf, both of which are always caked in mud. He'll wear them until they fall apart, and simply replace them with some other scrap material he's found on his daily hunt for treasures.

He's loud - boisterous and charming to some, obnoxious and pompous to others. The one thing they agree on is he's a business man (of sorts). He gets things done, and will rarely shy away from even the most unsavoury task...if the price is right.

Phibious loves to haggle a price. I'm not sure if clients give in to his demands because he's a good negotiator, or because they know he can get the job done, or because they just can't stand the stink of him from across the table.

Another curious question surrounding him is his pot belly. He always has one hand on it. There have been whispers that he's fit and trim under that cloak, and the round beach ball shape is actually a sack of gold coins he keeps tied around his waist for safe keeping.

Meet Grumbling Eddie.

He looks fairly unhappy, doesn't he?

I don't know what his problem is. He won't tell me. He just huffs and yowls when I ask, then turns away.

He's on the move a lot, trying to get things done. What things? You ask him. I'm not interested in getting told off again by a small blue creature.

For someone only 6 inches tall, he sure is feisty.

I've heard him laugh once or twice, but it's more in mockery or sarcasm. He yaps at me, but I have no clue what he's saying. Which annoys him. He delivers a perfect "You understand what I'm saying. Don't play dumb with me" expression.

I think it's better that I don't know what he's saying. I get the distinct impression it's not very nice.

Maybe once he achieves...whatever it is he's hoping to achieve, he'll be in a sunnier mood.

A couple of months ago I ordered some eyeballs and porcelain teeth. They've been sitting around my office, waiting to be used. Inspiration didn't come right away.

Finally, the mood hit this week. I had nothing in particular in mind, so I just started working on little heads; no plan, no vision, just play.

Four heads were made. Three are still in progress, but the fourth has a body and a scarf.

This is Gloomy. I'm not sure what he is exactly. A ghoul? A spirit? He's certainly a minion; a servant to someone, though his abilities are limited. Perhaps it's better to say he's a messenger and assistant. He relays information, and is often sent ahead to check on tasks and locations.

As an artist, working with the teeth is a trip. It dictates so much about the character, as does the eyes. Yetch has already walked in, quirked his head at one of the other figures and said somewhat confused "All of his teeth are molars" to which I excitedly replied "I know!". Yetch considered this for a moment, then stated "I suppose he must be a vegetarian".

I hope to introduce you to the vegetarian soon.

The last figure of this second set was specially made for a friend.

I've enjoyed creating these figures, but there's an added joy when you're making one with someone specific in mind, and you know it's going to a good home.

As an update, half of the figures have already found a home. And to those new owners, I say thank you for your support.

I've plans to make 1 or 2 more sets for Rue Morgue's Festival of Fear next month (time permitting), but they are on the back burner as I focus on other projects (like, for instance, 3 huge peek-a-boo plants that are over a foot tall).

But let's get back to the star of this post.

This is easily my favourite pose yet. The bowed head gives a sense of contemplation, or a false sense of gentility. This changes when the figure is perched above the spectator.

While tidying, I had moved this Plague Doctor to a high shelf. Having the feeling I was being watched while I vacuumed, I looked up. There he was, staring down his beak at me.

The third figure in this second set of four also bends the traditional view of a Plague Doctor.

Bolts, organic in appearance (almost like growths or barnacles) line the seams of his stitched leather hood.

His goggles are prominent, the glass thick and dark almost like that of a welder. There is no hint of eyes behind them, but you cannot mistake the sense you're being watched.

The muddied appearance travels from hood to scarf, and you can't quite tell if his clothing is soiled or if that's how they look naturally.

There is one more figure left in this set of four, and he is more in line with others you've seen me make. I certainly had some fun with these last two, pushing the boundaries on what defines a Plague Doctor; trying to make them very different yet still retain enough hints in the features that you connect it to the classic figures.

Ever since I painted the first red Plague Doctor, I've been itching to make a blue one.

Here he is, a skeletal blue jay mask and bright blue leather hiding his true face from us.

You see, these aren't human Plague Doctors. They look like them, and they mingle with the sick and diseased, but there is no benevolence in their attention to the ill. No pity for the suffering of mankind. They simply chose this form because it was the simplest to replicate, having to only shift their appearance slightly to adapt to an acceptable sight on any street corner so long ago.

Should two of these creatures cross each other's path, there is no greeting, no acknowledgement of their presence. They simply pass by, or hover over the sickly individual on opposite sides of his deathbed.

This newest figure is the closest I've come to creating a classic Plague Doctor. Perhaps the urge to be a purist will dominate while making one of these forms, but it certainly didn't happen when I was making the other three in this set.

One has the features of a skeletal blue jay. Another is mustard-green with large goggles. And the final one in this set is similar to the other red figures of the original group, but certainly his own individual.

Admittedly, there is something striking about the white mask against the black form, and I'm sure if there's a third set of four, one of them will have similar characteristics. Until then, be prepared for some strange looking Plague Doctors in the days to come and enjoy the pictures posted below.

The fourth and final member of this group of Plague Doctors has similar colour as the third, but it's a bit more faded out. A bit more worn

He, too, is sewn into his hood, but the detailing has been altered. Small punctures in the leather surface decorate the mask (of course, they only don't go all the way through the leather).

You may also notice this figure is wearing goggles. For some reason, I think it makes him more...human in appearance (especially in the wider shots below).

Or maybe it's the tilt of his head.

I know you shouldn't choose favourites among your children but I have to admit I do favour this Plague Doctor slightly more than the previous two versions.

With his leather hood, sewn closed along the top and back of his skull (as shown in the picture below), our little friend seems well armed to go into battle against Black Plague. Or anything else, for that matter.

Unlike his predecessors, he's holding his hat as opposed to wearing it. And he also has a hand peeking out of his robe, grasping the brim of his hat.

I am fond of the burnt look of his hood. I'd had a particular colour in mind, but I didn't realize which textured effect I'd use until I was applying the paint. You'll see this effect again soon.