Now we are 11
Not counting the select Poultry Collection, we now have 11 small animals. The newest arrival is Albus, an impossibly supple and silky polar bear that is less anthropomorphisable than the others due to his more anatomically correct proportions and features. We found/rescued him in an odd little Sunset toy/junk store run by a pink-faced Asian man. The shop was an exemplar of clutter and random merchandise. When I jokingly set on my head a giantish pair of glasses that looked made for a very petite head with bug-like eyes, his voiced shot over the heads of his queued up customers, around the awkward corners of jumbled shelving: "30% percent off!"
We marvelled at the sheer number and mass of items crammed into the distantly flourescent-lit space. It was a sort of post-apocalyptic cabinet of Dr. Caligari--toy cars, action figures, plastic gold rings, glittery hair ornaments, hairbands, stuffed animals, eclectic (or indifferent) selection of racy stockings--all adrip from storage units stacked high and wide, forcing one down deep and narrow impasses between the jungle of stuff reaching out to grab one's attention, clipped as it may be in such a maze, or unmindful limb.
Albus was on the highest shelf of animals, nested snugly next to a sincere-looking snow leopard. I am not usually a fan of stuffed animals that are too true to life because they rarely capture the adorable liveliness or spirit of the creatures and often just look a little stoned, like imitation diorama displays not made to scale. Maybe it's the artifice of the glassy eyes that can look less disarming on an overtly false representation of the genuine animal. Say, a penguin: I have noticed that our notorious (Potato Patch Chairman) Penguin is a lot cuter and "animated" by his penguinish-features than toys made to resemble the exact dimensions, colours, and contours of real penguins. It could be that his Christmassy red and green scarf, red beanie hat, and Danish birth certificate (though he has since relocated to a potato-farming commune in China in mind) lend him unfair advantages, but I found the baby pups in "March of the Penguins" irresistible, too.
In conclusion, I suppose I could try to tie in some pale allusion to aesthetics theory and symposia about Art's power of artifice that is somehow more truthful than truth, but that would be too much.
We welcome Albus to the roost.
We marvelled at the sheer number and mass of items crammed into the distantly flourescent-lit space. It was a sort of post-apocalyptic cabinet of Dr. Caligari--toy cars, action figures, plastic gold rings, glittery hair ornaments, hairbands, stuffed animals, eclectic (or indifferent) selection of racy stockings--all adrip from storage units stacked high and wide, forcing one down deep and narrow impasses between the jungle of stuff reaching out to grab one's attention, clipped as it may be in such a maze, or unmindful limb.
Albus was on the highest shelf of animals, nested snugly next to a sincere-looking snow leopard. I am not usually a fan of stuffed animals that are too true to life because they rarely capture the adorable liveliness or spirit of the creatures and often just look a little stoned, like imitation diorama displays not made to scale. Maybe it's the artifice of the glassy eyes that can look less disarming on an overtly false representation of the genuine animal. Say, a penguin: I have noticed that our notorious (Potato Patch Chairman) Penguin is a lot cuter and "animated" by his penguinish-features than toys made to resemble the exact dimensions, colours, and contours of real penguins. It could be that his Christmassy red and green scarf, red beanie hat, and Danish birth certificate (though he has since relocated to a potato-farming commune in China in mind) lend him unfair advantages, but I found the baby pups in "March of the Penguins" irresistible, too.
In conclusion, I suppose I could try to tie in some pale allusion to aesthetics theory and symposia about Art's power of artifice that is somehow more truthful than truth, but that would be too much.
We welcome Albus to the roost.
posted by greenyew at 1:18 PM
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