William and the Drunk Old Farts and Art Through the Eyes of Children

This past weekend I was running an artisan booth for my business, The Clever Corvid Art and Art Workshops with Rhonda Beckman, in Ear Falls at the Trout Forest Music Festival. It’s a huge endeavor that involves a ton of planning to prepare for a festival, and it usually starts a good few months in advance. With all of the hassle that is involved in a festival, it’s soooo worth it when you actually get there and start the interaction process with the patrons. I talk with people that “speak my language” about the process of art, what their creative talents are, and so forth.

But when a CHILD walks in my booth, I do not ask “Do you do any kind of art?” Instead, I ask, “What kind of artist are you?” There is a huge shift that happens to a child around the age of 11 or 12, when this awareness occurs as to whether they are an artist or not, and it truly is a shame to see that magical spark slowly dissipate. Young children simply automatically assume they are artists. That’s all there is to it and it’s never an argument. But I did have a few children that were on the verge of saying, “Oh, I’m not that good.” You know that someone got to them and suddenly there’s that small feeling of apprehension which will only grow if someone isn’t there to recognize it and shift that monster of a thought process. To be fair, children go through brain growth spurts, and supposedly around the 12 year old change, suddenly their brain craves reality. They are making sense of the world and their feet are firmly planted in it. Suddenly Santa Claus is a ludicrous joke and they’ll vehemently deny any connection in believing in Mr. Rolly Polly. So if they have not been slowly developing their artistic skills through a fantastic elementary school level art program that also instills the importance of skill building through drawing and shading on a regular basis, children will stop drawing if their drawings don’t start looking somewhat realistic. They are seeing something in front of them and their eyes and hands are not working together to make their drawing become set in reality. (On that note, I strongly suggest all teachers buy the book, “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” to teach realistic drawing skills.) Not that I think being a realistic drawer is what makes one an artist, but it is what makes or breaks a child sometimes.

But back to the kids that still have “the magic”….when I ask, “What kind of art do you do?” they say things like unicorns, and rainbows and their dog and so forth and chat me up about what they like to draw. One girl said, “I like to draw reindeer” and so I asked who her favourite reindeer was and her immediate reply was, “Rudolph” to which her younger, 4 year oldish brother retorted with hands on hips, “EVERYONE’S FAVOURITE REINDEER IS RUDOLPH!” Just in case I wasn’t in the loop, you know.

One gaggle of children came to visit the booth and a girl in leopard patterned rubber boots with a flowery crown and huge black rimmed glasses said she is joining gymnastics this year. I mentioned that I could, at one time, do a one hand cartwheel (which I was not about to demonstrate) and asked if she could do a cartwheel. So she did to demonstrate her skills. Awesome. I gave them all stickers and they thanked me as nice music fest kids do.

But my most magical experience with children happened when William came to my booth. I didn’t even have a chance to ask William what kind of an artist he was. William was on auto-pilot and swooped directly to the back of the booth where I had a collection of antiques and funky artifacts for sale. He honed in on a piece of German pottery. Now let’s talk about this pottery. It is a blue glaze on a grey underglaze which helps define the imagery. It is low relief sculpture so it has a textural quality. The imagery shows two elderly men, one sleeping on a chair while the other impishly tickles him. There is a big beer stein in the picture. I labelled it “2 drunk old farts on a German plate, Gerzit pottery, $20”. William ran his hands over the surface of the plate and exclaimed his immediate love for it. He had a million questions which I tried my best to answer. He said several times that he wanted to have that plate. I said that since it was German pottery, it would be best to eat German food on it for a great experience and tried my best to list off all of the German foods I could think of; wiener schnitzel, streusel, sauerkraut, bratwurst….sigh. I was being horribly stereotypical, but William didn’t notice and didn’t give a damn about eating on it because he was adamant that this plate was NOT going to be eaten on. It was going to be hung up in his room. Then he left. And came back. Then he came back again with his mom who said, “Well, if you’re good this weekend.” Then he came back with his friends to share in his delight to which he got a few strange looks from his peers. Then as his passion grew my heart grew bigger and the 8^th or 9^th time he visited I told him that he could have it at half price even though I knew darn well that I would be giving him that plate. He came back a few times more, making sure the price tag was tucked under the plate so nobody else knew it was for sale. I told him that I would tell anyone else that was interested in the two drunk guys plate that it was absolutely NOT for sale.

The next day, my first customer was William, just checking to make sure the plate didn’t get blown away in the night. Then he was gone to carry on with the day’s activities. I was heading to the washroom when I saw William taking down his tent with his mom. I was worried that he would leave without having the opportunity to give him his plate so I mentioned that he should swing by the booth. I was a bit embarrassed as I hoped his mother didn’t think I was trying to swindle $10 out of an 8 year old boy’s hand, but she replied by telling me he’s allowed to come over after he finishes his jobs. Whew. You just can’t let a kid go without giving his something he’s so incredibly passionate about!

William came running over with $10 in hand about a half hour later. I said, “Ok William, here’s the deal. You can have the plate. You don’t have to pay for it but I would love to have my picture taken with you and the opportunity to share your story with my friends on Facebook.” His eyes widened and then he excitedly said, “Let me go ask my Mom!” and I thought, good job, Mom, on teaching your child to be responsible with social media! He came back super excited to be able to say yes, and I have the picture to prove it.

My husband said if ever there was a time to believe it past lives, this might just be it. What did William see in that plate that everyone else passed by? What was the connection? To me, it is fascinating and just goes to show that children are full of curiosity, wonder and delight, and I can only hope to have half the passion that William does for the things that are loved in life.

So thank you, awesome children, for being a constant reminder of the beauty we are surrounded by all the time, if we choose to look. As Matisse once said, “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.” 

It's a Family Affair

This article was originally written for the Northern Sun News on August 20th, 2014. 

My sister sculpted this cake! 

I, on the other hand, prefer to work two-dimensionally. 

It’s a little known fact that my creative abilities are actually a family affair, passed down to me from both of my parents and possibly generations before. My sister and I are pretty handy with our hands; me more on the two dimensional level where as Teresa is a sculptor of cake. (How does one actually take eggs, sugar, butter and flour and make it look like a pirate’s ship anyway?!!! It’s a mystery to me. Just like physics is magic. Metal flying through the air? Magic, I tell you. )  You probably would easily surmise that my father gave me my love for the outdoors; instilling a passion for the beauty of nature right from the very beginning. It is because of his keen eye that I was able to see the delicate unfurling of the fiddlehead into a fern, or the natural polished sheen of an agate on the beaches of Lake Superior. Then he would take these natural found objects home and slice them with his massive rock cutter or pummel little pebbles around in his rock tumbler to make funky 70’s style jewelry for Teresa and me. He’s a tinkerer and so am I.

My mom on the other hand is a bit quieter in her artistic nudgings.  She always seemed to have the popsicle sticks that we needed, or the pipe cleaners, the glue or the seashells. We didn’t have an art supply cupboard that I know of; they were just there when we needed them….magically. And she would quietly take ceramics classes and come home with a cotton ball holder that was blasted with vibrant colours, dripping off the edges of the porcelain, or the most brilliant green frog that one could ever stuff an SOS scouring pad into. She would also bring us home small Christmas ornament molds and we’d quietly sit at the dining room table and paint them on a cold winter day. She taught me how to be a patient artist.

 My mom was the one that was always asked to make the posters for upcoming tea socials and she’d fret about using the right picture and placing the lettering on the page just so. She had an eye for graphic design and I watched her work. I was impressed with the job she had been given and learned that it was very important to be a community artist and that a lot of time and effort was invested into the visuals that surrounded us on a regular basis.

And she too had an eye for beauty that was instilled in my sister and I. Every time the Avon catalog came out, there would be figurines for sale that strategically held a canister of perfume in them; cleverly hidden in the body of a bird or the skirt of a fair maiden. My mom would allow us to pick one. Teresa was collecting whimsical figurines and I was collecting a glass menagerie. I loved the way the sunlight would shine through the coloured glass of these little creatures. (But let’s be honest; the perfume stunk! “Sweet Honesty” honestly stinks.) I learned to appreciate the small things.

And when I went off to university, my mom was my biggest supporter. I would wrack up the long distance phone bills talking about my ideas and the different art supplies that I was discovering. I brought home my portfolio of work on weekends or holidays to show off my wares. I will never forget my mother oohing and aaahing over what she thought was a landscape, drawn with charcoal. She asked if she could have it framed. I was confused. “Mom”, I said, “That is a woman’s butt!” The close up drawing that I had done of a nude woman had been transformed into a beautiful scape of soft flowing dunes in her eyes and after she had pointed it out to me, I could see it too. On that day, my mother taught me that there was more than one way to view the world.

But the piece de resistance was a painting of a vase of flowers that my mother created. Every time I mention it to her she laughs it off and says, “Oh, that silly thing. It was nothing.” But to me, it was everything. I can’t even remember what it looks like now. I just know it was on a big piece of paper, and it was exploding with colour and texture and I couldn’t wait to be able to do the same. My mom was an artist and I proudly hung that painting up on my bedroom wall. Darn! I wish I knew where that painting ended up, but I guess it doesn’t even matter because it’s what the painting did that matters. Through that painting my mom showed me that we are all artists, and we all have the ability to fill our homes with beautiful images that bring us serenity or happiness. She showed me that you don’t have to be big, and loud and boisterous but your art can be. She showed me through her quiet, humble creativity how to be an artist.

Thank you, Mom. I love you. Happy birthday. 

Food Is Art

This article was originally written on August 6th for the Northern Sun News.

My husband has been sick for the past several days with a nasty summer flu. I must have sympathetic flu symptoms because I too indulged in a full-fledged movie marathon with him, watching hour upon hour of movies (3 out of 4 of them had Johnny Depp in them…yahoo!) and begging people to bring us chocolate cake via Facebook (everyone laughed but nobody took action). Two of the four movies we watched focused on the power of food to enrich and delight not only the sense of taste, but life itself.

Food is art; it brings up emotions and memories just as a painting or photograph does. It taps into that deep rooted desire that transports us to another time or place. Every time I eat a beet, I can’t help but feel proud of my Ukrainian heritage. I also think of all the times as a child that I turned up my nose to my Baba’s wonderfully rosy creamy borscht, thinking it looked weird (Pink soup? Really?) and smelled a little bit like dirt. Little did I know that I was probably breaking her beautiful heart by doing so, since we all know that food IS love in the Ukrainian household. Every fall when I harvest my roots, I take pride in knowing that my father-in-law is anticipating that first fresh pot of earthy, homemade goodness. I give him borscht for Christmas. Seriously.

And I think about the work that is invested in the harvest. Just as an artist goes through a meticulous process to get to their final creation, so too does the gardener;  breaking the earth with the hoe, nurturing the soil with bone meal and compost that was slowly created by the perpetually munching red worms that feast away in a dark, moist bin in our basement all winter, the careful placement of each seed considering depth, width, placement to the sun, the proper amount of soil, keeping the bugs away, ensuring the birds don’t eat the seeds before they’ve erupted as a seedling…..it’s all so much work to get that succulent, red tomato. And so worth it. 

That is why it is so delightful to go tromping through the forest and come across a batch of grape sized blueberries, or luscious raspberries. No work was involved in this discovery, but the mind knows just how much work and thought Mother Nature put into these delicious creations. And we Northerners appreciate this and take photographs of our findings and share our blueberry jam with our friends and neighbours without once ever giving up our “secret hiding spot”. The process of seeking out the wild mushrooms or the fiddleheads is part of the art of harvesting and not sharing our picking spots is just plain common sense!

On a side note regarding photographing food, I always find it entertaining when people post copious amounts of pictures of food on social networking sites. I understand it; I too have taken photographs of food. But when you go to a baby shower and post photos of every single hors d’oeuvre that was served and don’t take any photos of the baby, then you might want to reconsider why you went to that shower in the first place and perhaps just go to a restaurant next time instead. Haha

Food as art; it’s too big of a topic to cover in one article, and as I brainstormed my ideas on a piece of scrap paper, I thought, “This is impossible! There is too much to write about!” Then when I talked to my husband about my dilemma, he too said that it was impossible and that there was too much to write about, and then commenced to prattling off a series of other topics I could talk about that I hadn’t added to my list regarding food as art. *Sigh* Perhaps I will branch off on my article writing to bring you a series based on food and art, so that I can explore the various aspects of this topic thoroughly. But until then, if you want to watch a fantastic movie or two, (or it you’d rather READ the book which these movies are adapted from) then I highly recommend reading/watching, “Chocolat”, “Julia & Julia”, “Ratatouille” and my favourite, “Like Water For Chocolate”. They truly capture the concept of the passion that is absorbed into the fantastic foods that we eat.

 

Next time you’re thinking of popping an easy “slider” into the microwave and quickly filling your gullet, stop and think about the connection between food, feelings, creativity and life. Perhaps you’ll decide to nourish yourself instead with something that is a bit kinder to your body and your soul. Bon appetit!

Hairy Paper

Please note; this article was originally written for The Northern Sun News on July 30th in the middle of a heat wave. Even though there are many references to summer, the ideas can still apply! 

We are in the thick of summer and I don’t know about you but I’m basking in the heat, not daring to complain after the miserable 50 below winter we had. It will come all too soon so I’m soaking up as much vitamin D as I can, as healthily as I can. It means taking my studio outdoors and painting on my deck, hoping that the papers I’m working on will also reap the benefits of the positive energy being absorbed. It makes me reflective of all the different projects I have worked on outside and hope that the following list of past projects I have done will give you fodder for your own creative adventures:

1.     I once made “hairy paper” with my friend Martha. We collected dryer lint, shred it up with ripped up pieces of scrap paper, boiled it all, threw it in a blender, and then added the pulp to a kiddie swimming pool full of water. We used homemade screens to scoop up the pulp to make our sheets of paper. When the paper dried we learned that you shouldn’t use dryer lint to make paper if you own a dog, hence the hairy paper.

2.       I have been known to annihilate pansies by hammering them into paper. Pansies make an excellent imprint on paper when you pound the snot out of them.

3.       I take a small package of art supplies with me when I travel; my sketch pad, a set of coloured pens, some Sharpie markers, a few pencils, an eraser, and a variety of pencil crayons. I have drawn the Altantic Ocean on the beach of Meat Cove on Cape Breton Island. I have drawn the Altantic from the beaches of Holland a la van Gogh.  I have used the architecture of a chateau in Southern France surrounded by hedges dripping in hot pink hydrangeas as inspiration for a full coloured realistic drawing. I have gesturally sketched the fiercely strong jack pines in the Woodland Caribou Park that seem to defy logic as they pierce through the smallest cracks in the granite. These sketches are better than a photograph because it takes me right back to that moment in time, capturing all of the smells, the brightness of the sun, the breeze off the ocean and the opportunity I had to be truly reflective of the environment I was in.

4.       I put out pans of watery paint in an assortment of colours and then rolled large sheets of paper across the ground. Alexander stepped right into the pans, using his feet as brushes for beautifully colourful abstract art. The bath water was pretty interesting looking after that artistic endeavor!

5.       I like to tap into my inner Banksy (check out his graffiti online) by spray painting found objects such as an old, unfixable violin, and a large taxidermied jack fish and hang them in my sunroom. They always stimulate conversation and intrigue! I find most of these objects at the dump and figure if my art piece doesn’t really work the way I want it, then I can just take it right back there again!

6.       I have doodled with a Sharpie on my husband’s back at the Winnipeg Folk Fest, letting the music summon the lines and shapes that become a part of his skin for a while. Automatic drawing is a fun way to create without feeling like you have to have specific results when the drawing is complete. Simply listen to music, put a pen in your hands and start drawing whatever comes to mind without lifting your pen. Once the song is over, look at what you’ve created and see what happens when you let your mind wander to music. There might be something doodled in those lines that are worth exploring further!

You don’t need a plan to create outdoors. You don’t need a whole lot of supplies. You don’t need to first find something to do on Pinterest. You just need to sit down, soak in the rays, let your senses take over for a while, and trust that Mother Nature will give you some excellent guidance as to what your artistic endeavour is going to be for that moment in time. You won’t be disappointed; only if you forget to put on sunblock. Don’t forget the sunblock. 

Soul Sisters

I have stumbled across amazing people in my life; having moved around a lot in my childhood (by the time I was 12 I had moved 6 times). Even though I was a brutally shy child, and to this day I still consider myself to be shy, I learned that the only way I was going to actually have a life of interest was if I was both approachable and willing to approach others. 

  A serendipitous encounter in The Water Buffalo is what led me to marrying the love of my life.

 It was the coincidental meeting in an introductory Psych 101 university course that re-introduced me to my “bestie”. We spent the rest of the term skipping class and going out for coffee instead. I barely got my credit in that class but the development of our friendship was much more important.

 I can’t imagine my life without these awesomely fantastic people, and also makes me think of all of the wonderful characters that are yet to come into my life, whether just for a fleeting moment, or a life time.

While on holidays last week in South Dakota, I took a journey through the market square of Rapid City and came across a funky art store that sold locally made art. When I walked in I instantly felt at home. It was cluttered from floor to ceiling with doodads and whirly-gigs. Art was covering every square inch and most was made with re-claimed materials, was layered in multi-mediums, and screamed QUIRKY! Behind the counter, a woman was busily chatting with a friend, the excitement in her voice resonating throughout the store as she talked about her artistic world. I was delighted by the company and the environment.

When I had the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the owner, I pointed to a cluster of ravens that had been meticulously yet fluidly painted onto canvas. She staked claim on them, and I told her of my love of ravens too, explaining their meaning for me, and pointing to the raven’s wing permanently embedded in my arm as a tattoo. I could tell by her use of reclaimed material in the jewelry that she made that she too was a raven with a scavenging spirit. She said that she was actually getting a tattoo of ravens put on her shoulder next week.  I felt an instant kinship, and even asked her if we were long lost sisters, to which she replied, “….soul sisters. We’re soul sisters.” I bought a pair of earrings and left feeling a new revitalization with who I was and what is important to me in the world.

That chance meeting with my soul sister made me think of who I am as an artist. I walked into a place that looked like the artwork was all created with me in mind. I could relate to the artwork being created. I understood the perspective of the artists. I knew the process they went through to get to their final art piece. It made me think of what I am creating today and whether I have allowed myself to stray too far away from my true art form. I have a studio full of trinkets and  doodads that float around as visions in my head. I don’t make them into art because the demand isn’t there for what has been considered a bit too unconventional. I had a regional gallery owner tell me that “people don’t buy abstract art” so I stopped making abstract art. Why did I do that? Why did I allow one person’s perspective to alter my direction when just two states away, there is someone out there that has a whole 1000 square foot, two leveled studio and gallery full of art that is just like my own?!  It has made me realize (again) that there is a place in the world for everyone. I walked into a foreign space and was welcomed with open armed acceptance of true self and I’m going to dive in again, and start creating art for me and the truth of my inner creativity. It`s an exciting and beautiful thought.

 I guess out of all this, the moral of this story (not that I’m into sharing morals in all of my articles!) is that it doesn’t hurt to talk to strangers. There are more beautiful people in the world than not, and they all have something that we can learn from them, if we take the time to ask questions and listen without judgement. Thank you, Soul Sister, for revitalizing my funkydoodad spirit!

This article was originally written for the Northern Sun News on July 30th, 2014. 

The Powerful Beauty of Nature

We were all quickly reminded of the power of nature this summer, when we watched a fellow community member struggle against the odds, and eventually make his way out of a disastrous situation. We are all thankful for that and the amazing work of a variety of people that came together to save his life and make the area safe again for others. For me, it became a time of reflection, as I was just there the day before the occurrence, having gone for a bike ride with my son to that exact spot at Half Way Creek. So quickly it can happen. So quickly we are brought into the folds of Mother Nature’s arms and told what to do instead of telling nature what we are going to do to it.

As an artist, I spend time manipulating the environment. I want my perennials arranged in a way that emphasizes the texture of the leaves and the succession of colour from the blooms. I want to carve out pockets of dirt to urge vegetables out of its ground, cut down trees that don’t fit in with the architecture, and plant more trees to give a “natural feel” to my yard. I think of both form and function when playing this game with the flora that surrounds me.  I ridiculously think that I can control the earth and the plants until the critters come along and chew on my lettuce leaves, and burrow holes through my tomatoes. The grubs dig deep within the grass and turn my yard into a lumpy obstacle course. The rain comes and gives all of my plants root rot and the wind snaps the branches off of my delicate trees.

You don’t have to look any further than Canada’s own Group of Seven to see how our weather can arch trees beyond the point of no return and fill the skies with impending doom. (Image Google search “Group of Seven storms”). We can all relate to that feeling as we watch the elements unfold their wrath before us and have a story to tell of our “close call” with Nature. Therein lays the balance; the give and take if you will that we should consider the thought of surrender at times instead of trying to fight something that is bigger than ourselves. I believe that Mother Earth does this all the time for us. She is put in a position of absolute surrender. I am all too quickly reminded of this when I take walks in the woods and see old garbage that has been completely smothered by the fresh green shoots of a native plant, and I think, “Ah Nature, you’re too forgiving.”

Every year my husband and I do an exploration on Canada Day. We pick a back road somewhere down the 105 and we venture into the unknown, seeking out what Mother Nature literally offers us in our backyard. It is an artist’s dream and I spend a lot of time photographing her extraordinary, untiring beauty. We are always pleasantly surprised and thankful for what she offers and this year was no exception. Yet even in the middle of nowhere, we are confronted with the essence of human presence, usually in the form of garbage, or four wheeler tracks that have ripped through the ground. If we went on these adventures with the intent to pick up garbage, we’d never make it back home. And we too were confronted by a large road wash out that had engulfed the road and easily pushed all of the road’s content downstream, along with several massive trees, which even sheered the sides off of large embankments, leaving years of sediment layers newly exposed. And as I looked upstream, I saw the little critter that was perhaps the cause of all this, and couldn’t help but think if this animal’s oblivious ignorance, simply doing what nature had intended it to do; what it was instinctually born to do. This beaver had no intent of harm, no reason to show resentment towards humans and how they plowed a road straight through his living room. He was just listening to the running water that was swooshing through the culvert and had an instinctual desire to fix it. And even though that cut into our mission of further exploration, and cuts into the productivity of others, and costs us money and man hours and so on, I can’t help but think that it’s a good reason to stop and think about just exactly what I’m doing as a human being, and an artist, and a citizen of this beautiful earth, and make decisions as to whether I really want to put up a fight with the might of Mother Nature, or graciously surrender to her significance.

Kitsch Tchotchkes

Yes, this is an ornament. I don't understand. I.just.don't. 

Kitsch tchotchkes; say that five times fast. We all have them, we’ve all anxiously given them as last minute gifts, and we have all embarrassingly received them as well. A tchotchke is a small, miscellaneous object of some kind, usually in the form of a souvenir. I've heard them called everything from dust collectors to crap, but there’s always a connotation of worthlessness attached to them. That’s where the word “kitsch” comes in, referring to that said object as tacky. It is an adjective for super cheesy junk and it is a bizarre sub-genre of the art and design world.

 Sometimes I stand in awe at the small figurines I see in stores and shake my head. Somebody actually walked into a manufacturing company and said, “I have an idea. Why don’t we make a statue of a mother unicorn with soft multi-coloured hair made out of squirrel tails, nestling its purple glitter baby unicorn, sitting on a rainbow that is in the shape of a heart.” And someone says, “YES! LET’S MAKE TEN THOUSAND OF THEM!” And then they end up in the bargain bin with a huge orange super sale sign on them because who the heck would buy something like that at full retail price?!!! And then your child buys it for you as a mother’s day gift because they’re five and they like glittery unicorns and the bargain bin just happens to be at their eye level and within easy reach of their little squishy hands. These marketing geniuses are pulling at the heart strings of every five year old in the world. The bastards.

Kitsch tchotchkes fascinate me because they muster up thoughts of the absurd. One of my favourite things to do is go to Value Village and peruse the kitsch tchotchke shelf. Again, the management is on to something here because it’s always the first shelf you see when you walk into any Value Village. It’s brilliant. You are pulled in by the kitsch; you laugh, your mood is lightened, and then you end up spending $50 on a bunch of pants that don’t fit you. Or maybe that’s just me.

And I have this habit of photographing my favourites and posting the photos on Instagram or Facebook. Sometimes when I do, people say things like, “I can’t believe you didn’t buy that!” Really? I am a photograph hoarder, not a kitsch tchotchke hoarder, thank you very much!  They are delightful to look at, and giggle at, but I definitely don’t want this stuff in my house. But I am more than aware that people dedicate full china cabinets to tchotchkes, getting full pleasure out of them, and secretly revelling in the fact that these objects of desire are safe from the harm of dust and accidental breakage. To each their own, I guess. Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder and who are we to judge what is considered a fantastic piece of sculptural art versus a tacky hunk of resin junk?

If you are interested in continuing on this quest for quirky, might I suggest you start at this website? www. museumofbadart.org. Again, you are also welcome to check out my photos on Instagram under the username Bobeckman.  If you’d like to take this a step further, send me a photo of your favourite kitsch tchotchke at funkydoodad@hotmail.com  Happy hunting!

Here is a picture of a baby elephant zookeeper in coveralls tending to a wild elephant. 

This article was originally posted in The Northern Sun without pictures. So, here are the pictures. You can't read this article without the pictures!