An imagination blog, powered by Kyle Dickinson and Kent St.John.
We opened the show tonight! Thanks to everyone who came out, and to our fellow artists in the ON Gallery. Also, thanks to Ben for allowing us to show our work, and getting The Unlimited Freedom Castle in the minds of many more!
In the following weeks we’ll be posting the collaborative images/words that gallery-goers submitted! Stay tuned…
Hey guys! It’s Kyle! I’m back from the dead, and living in Oregon. Life is kinda crazy at the moment, but none of that matters to you. What matters to you is that The Unlimited Freedom Castle will be making its real world (read: non-Internet) debut at the ON Gallery (321 NW 6th #101) in Portland TOMORROW NIGHT! All the details are in the posts below, and we hope to see you there!
Also, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good old-fashioned dose of collaboration here on the site, so without further ado, I give you….
RE: Your application and interview for official Villain of Westchester
Dear Toxic Death Shaman:
Thank you for coming in to our offices at City Hall yesterday and meeting with our council. It was a pleasure meeting you, and discussing the opening of Town Villain. There were many villains to choose from, and we were pleasantly surprised by your specific brand of evilness and firm commitment to “Toxic Torture” as you called it. With that said, we regret to inform you that the position has been filled.
We make it our business to let our applicants know where we think their skills are EXCELLING, MEETING, or LACKING in our requirements. The following is a detailed analysis of what we believe makes a terrifying Town Villain, and where you stand in these categories on a scale of 1 to 10. 1 being “so un-terrifying a baby might actually confuse you for its mother” and 10 being “get the fuck out of town, this guy is going to kill us all”.
NAME: 5 out of 10
The council really had trouble deciding where to grade you here. You started out so well with TOXIC and DEATH; it doesn’t get much more direct than that. But the decision to call yourself a “shaman”, well, we were left shaking our heads. Personally, I don’t want to mess around with anyone that has TOXIC DEATH in their name, but SHAMAN conjures up thoughts of emaciated old men with beards in a cave. Now, maybe you’re thinking “hey, old guys in a caves are creepy, and may have possible pedophiliac tendencies; that sounds evil” and you’re right. We actually lowered your score more for that. That’s not the type of scary we’re looking for.
SUGGESTION: Drop the “shaman” and go with “DEMON” or “AVENGER”. Hell, just “man” would be better than Shaman.
COSTUME: 3 out of 10
Really, we couldn’t get past the mask here. Take this as constructive criticism, please, but this was, perhaps, the WORST mask we saw. The damn thing looks like you found it in an Army Surplus store, got high on paint fumes, and decided to get all crazy with your brush set. Kittens and disabled children would instill more fear into criminals than this glorified gas mask. I’m sorry, but the council was appalled at your apparent lack of effort into this piece of the costume. We see what you were trying to do with the rest of the outfit, and that’s why we gave you a 3 on this one. Really, just tell us, were you like: “holy fuck, I’ve got the Villain interview in like 15, and I totally forgot to make my mask - the SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ANY VILLAIN OUTFIT?!”
SUGGESTION: Find the definition of “scary” at dictionary.com, and replace that with whatever definition you’ve got in your brain.
LAIR: 1 out of 10
As a shaman you should AT LEAST live in a cave. Yes, we know Westchester is an affluent suburban town, and there aren’t many caves up for grabs, but there wasn’t a hint of creativity. Your “lair” is, and I quote you, “a basement with no furniture, a freezer, and a pull up bar”. While that might be scary to an interior decorator, your hostages will be wondering what kind of meat you’re storing, instead of passing out from shock on your “evil experiment table” (just an idea). Now we see how you landed on the name shaman: You’re lazy. How can we expect you to carry on with the caliber of villainy that this town requires when you can’t even build yourself a proper lair? Pathetic.
SUGGESTION: Get a drawing board, and then go back to it.
Unfortunately, it is our policy to throw out any candidate who receives a 1 out of 10 score in ANY of our criteria. Our citizens deserve a better class of villain, Mr. Death Shaman, and we simply could not bear to watch you attempt to terrorize our town.
As you know, we did find a new town villain (he’s breathtaking, truly), and he will be making his first appearance soon. If you do anything to disrupt this debut you will be fined, and taken out of consideration for any further villain job openings. Westchester does have a 5-year limit on villains, so you should feel free to apply again in 2013. Use the suggestions we have given you, and you’ll be on your way to making Westchester quiver in fear!
Thank you for your time,
Cecil Jorgensten
Mayor of Williamsport
Hey everyone. Our show is approaching. This past weekend I finished-up the final illustration piece, so now all of them are finished. I thought I’d post a little preview of each image. These are tight crops of the final pieces that will be shown at ON Gallery in Portland, OR., August 7th. If you need some more information on the show, check out the two posts before this one.
By the way, Kyle’s making a giant leap up north today. He’s making his way back to Oregon after living in SoCal for the past few years (I think it’s been 5 years). Bon Voyage, Kyle.
-Kent
"Out of Commission" Illustration by Kent St. John
Considering that Kyle and I might be “out of commission” for a week or so, I thought I’d just throw up a quick post. The image above was originally a sketch from one of my books.
There’s nothing worse than a neglected blog, but Kyle and I are doing our best to keep in contact, and let you know what’s going on. If you’ve check out the post previous to this one, you know that we’re busy preparing for The Unlimited Freedom Castle gallery debut. Just yesterday I sent out the official press release for the show. Check it out, and come see the show in August if you’re in the Portland area. The official opening is First Thursday, August 7th at ON Gallery.
THE UNLIMITED FREEDOM CASTLE: “WRITTEN BY / ILLUSTRATED BY” PRESS RELEASE:
On April fools days, 2008, the first collaborative post by Kyle Dickinson and Kent St. John went live on their blog, “The Unlimited Freedom Castle.” However, this wasn’t the beginning of any fooling around. A whole four months later, Kent and Kyle have gone on to create thirty five more wholesome posts, with a handful still waiting in the wings to be published.
The Unlimited Freedom Castle is just what it sounds like: a place where imagination reigns supreme. This blog is essentially a creative outlet for its two creators, Kent and Kyle. One is an artist, the other a writer. On this site they combine their talents to see what happens. The purpose is to see where the imagination will go.
About the show:
“Written By / Illustrated By”
With the routine blogging well under their belts, Kent and Kyle have decided to take The Unlimited Freedom Castle to a new and different level: the gallery. This two man show will feature writing inspired by art, and art inspired by writing, very much in the way the blog functions. In addition to just showing their work, the viewer will have the opportunity to interact and contribute as well by either writing in reaction to Kent’s illustration, or illustrating in reaction to Kyle’s writing– or both. When the show comes down at the end of August, the viewers’ contributions will be published on The Unlimited Freedom Castle blog.
About The Unlimited Freedom Castle:
About ON Gallery:
ON Gallery is a new addition to the Everett Station Galleries.
ON Gallery is a project focussed on exploring the relationship between
art and technology by displaying technology and interactive media in a gallery setting.
ON Gallery is now seeking artists and collaborators to show 2d, 3d,
installation, videography, interaction, kinetic sculpture and other
artistic practices which are supported or informed by technology.
Please send proposals in pdf or plain text format to callforartists@ongallery.org
EXT. BAR PARKING LOT - NIGHT
The parking lot is almost empty and lit with streetlamps that shine pools of light on faded white parking-space lines. It is only almost empty because there are two surly dudes with bulging biceps and veins popping out of their foreheads roaming the area. They are drunk, and carry aluminum baseball bats. Obviously.
SURLY DUDE #1: You think those guys are still in there?
SURLY DUDE #2: Which guys?
SURLY DUDE #1: The guys we’s gonna beat up. Kent and Kyle; you drunk bastard.
SURLY DUDE #2: Oh, yeah! I love beating people up. Especially with baseball bats. There is probably nothing I enjoy more!
SURLY DUDE #1: I plan on punching one of them. That will be AWESOME.
SURLY DUDE #2: So, I’m all into this, don’t get me wrong, but why are we beating their skulls in again?
SURLY DUDE #1: BECAUSE THEY NEVER POST ANYTHING ON THEIR WEBSITE ANYMORE! GAHHH!!! IT MAKES ME SO FRUSTRATED.
At that moment, Kent and Kyle walk out of the bar, unaware that the two surly dudes in front of them are ready to give them a skull bashing.
SURLY DUDE #1: THERE THEY ARE. LET’S DO THIS THING!
Kent and Kyle look at each other, with cartoon eyes popping out of their heads.
The surly dudes run towards them, wielding their bats high in the air.
Kent and Kyle scream.
KENT: WAIT!
KYLE: STOP! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!
SURLY DUDE #1: We want you to post more often on your collaborative blog, The Unlimited Freedom Castle!
SURLY DUDE #2: YEAH! DO IT…OR DIE!
KENT (apologetic): Hold on, guys. Really we’re sorry.
The dudes slow down and lower their weapons.
KYLE: Honestly. It’s not that we haven’t been working on stuff. No, we’ve actually been busy doing TUFC - but it’s going to be live action.
SURLY DUDE #1: Huh? That doesn’t make sense.
KENT: What Kyle means is that we’re going to be apart of a gallery show at the beginning of August. We’re working on the pieces that will be displayed there, and planning just how the exhibit is going to look.
KYLE: Yeah, we’re really excited about it; our exhibit is going to be interactive!
KENT: The viewer/audience will actually have a chance to participate in The Unlimited Freedom Castle collaboration!
SURLY DUDE #2: Again, we’re confused. How will that be possible.
KYLE: We’re glad you asked. There will be two “inspiration pieces” (one written, one illustrated), and the audience will have their own pieces of paper to write or draw on, hopefully “inspired” by the pieces Kent and I have put up.
KENT: Any and all collaborations will be placed online for the rest of the world to see!
SURLY DUDE #1: Woah. That just blew my mind.
KYLE: Thanks for the compliment.
KENT: Yeah, hey, the show is August 7th at the On Gallery: 321 NW 6th #101. Portland OR. 97209. You guys wanna come?
SURLY DUDES (together): AWESOME! WE’LL BE THERE.
END SCENE.
So that’s our story, folks. Sorry for the lack of posts, but we hope you’re excited about the gallery. We know most of you aren’t in Portland, but we’ll be displaying the gallery pieces on the site after the event.
Since it’s been over a week since the last post, we’re going to give you a sneak peek at one of the gallery pieces. There is a line excerpted from the written inspiration, and the unfinished sketch that goes along with it.
Thanks for sticking with us!
————
“Down there we’ll find some interesting things. Buried cities; treasure, maybe. Mostly the bones of the dead. Artifacts of what we long ago believed in.”
Illustration by Kent St. John
Bye, bye,
Said the man with the sad eyes.
He contemplated what his veins would feel like with ice flowing through them.
Waiting for the right moment had taken too long.
And now, with the love fleeing from his heart,
to his fingers,
to the thick-with-thought air,
he was mostly a ghost – or rather,
the opposite:
he was a body without a soul.
He said It felt like it was no one’s fault as he forecasted a future that set his life on fire, and cast her body into darkness. She used to play the piano, but now the piano was playing her. It was taking its cues from horror films, pounding hard on the low notes, and playing short, shrill, high A’s when it all settled down. It was incoherent and covered in spit. If she could have left the bench she would have wandered into a dirty hardware store, stolen a sledgehammer, and snuck up on the bastard thing and broken it into a million sharp pieces. She’d keep one of the black keys in her purse. These mementos are like tattoos for her, and she marks her life with them.
Hey everyone. Here’s my first entry for this week’s www.illustrationfriday.com topic; “fierce.” Hopefully many more entries to follow… at least that is the plan. The movie Amores Perros (directed by Alejandro González) came to mind right away. I’ve always thought of this film as being extremely “fierce” in every sense of the word.
-Kent
For those of you who may already frequent our blog, and are curious as to what Illustration Friday is exactly, read on brother:
Illustration Friday is a weekly creative outlet/participatory art exhibit for illustrators and artists of all skill levels. It was designed to challenge participants creatively. We believe that every person has a little creative bone in their body. Illustration Friday just gives a no-pressure, fun excuse to use it. No clients looking for a particular thing. No one judging the outcome of the work. It’s a chance to experiment and explore and play with visual art.
Back in the old days
Before the world got caught up
God was obvious
Hell was Hell was Hell
Now the spirits say “We’re stuck!”
Hell is here on earth
We look to the sky
Asking, “shall we repent, Lord?”
Without a reply
It used to breathe fire
But this smoke out our windows?
We did this ourselves
So You Woke Up and Now You Are A Bear.
The morning begins as you awake from a dream. In this particular dream you were an animated bear, and you were really in to honey. You found this storage house that had pots and pots of honey, labeled (misspelled) as “hunny”, and right when you walked in this alarm went off and giant bees came from secret doors in the walls. It was a sting operation…
And then you woke up, a little baffled by the dream, but it wasn’t too far from normal so you let it go. That’s when you notice that your twin-size bed has collapsed. Okay, so you’ve been gaining a little weight, but you’ve never even heard it creak before. You start to think of what happened the night before. You went out with friends, had a few drinks, just a typical night…or…no…Steve had everyone over to his place after the bar and there were these two new guys…Jonesy and Hard Hat. Hard Hat was this burly guy, with a moustache and a tattoo of Thomas Jefferson doing a line of coke off of the Declaration of Independence on his back. He showed it to you, and even though he got it like 7 years ago he still thought it was the funniest thing ever, and when Hard Hat laughed, apparently you had to laugh because that’s what Steve told you to do.
After Hard Hat put his shirt back on, Jonesy pulled out this bottle of pills from his man purse and poured some onto the table, next to the nachos and dip that they had brought. He had cut a pill in half, and then gave you both halves, and you thought that was weird, because why not just take a whole pill? You asked why, and he just said, “because, that’s how the natives do it man”. Again, that was pretty weird, because natives usually smoke things, and they don’t take pills, but who were you to judge the natives? So, there you were, dipping over-cheesy chips into an avocado dip (which was just fantastic), drunk to the point where Carlos Mencia was funny, and holding two halves of the same purplish pill. The only thing you remember before you blacked out was, “Dude, just a warning: you might turn into a bear. Don’t say I didn’t warn you”.
So, remembering all this, you sit upright, and look down at yourself. Where your hands used to be are giant paws with five non-retractile claws. Your entire body is covered in shaggy, brown hair. You look down where your nose should be and you have a large snout. All signs point to that fact that…
You are a bear. A big one.
You turn to your full length mirror, knocking over your desk and chair with your massive hind legs, and indeed the mirror confirms that you are no longer human.
Well, you can’t say he didn’t warn you. Yes, you could spend all day pissed off at yourself for taking those pills, but its best to leave the past in the past. Instead of focusing on the negative, you should head on down to the grocery store and steal yourself the biggest bucket of honey you can find. You’re a bear now. Deal with it.
Click the tab above labeled “Crooked Creek: A Continuing Story” to get caught up with this ongoing saga.
After running, straight-out for three miles, Conrad stopped to catch his ever-escaping breath. He had passed a line of trees and he could no longer see the outline of his home. He smiled to himself; for the moment he had forgotten exactly why he was running, and was excited by how far he’d made it without stopping. He hunched over with his hands on his knees, winded.
Inches from his face, protruding from the ground was an ant-hill, whirling with the tiny footsteps of its inhabitants. His smile grew wider. A line of ants carrying pieces of a fallen apple were making their way to the gaping entrance to the hive. He let out a laugh – the ants were so tiny; how could they carry these chunks of apple that were bigger than they were? As they disappeared into their home, Conrad’s eyes darted to the bottom of the hill again. This time, there were two large ants carrying another ant. They moved slowly – with a careful stride that their apple-moving peers had lacked. He saw that the transported ant was dead, with a gash in his thorax and missing two legs. His ant-brothers in arms were bringing him home in solemnity it seemed; perhaps reciting silent prayers, or constructing Formicidae eulogies in their heads. Conrad smashed the three with his boot, and set off running again.
Back at the bend of Crooked Creek where Buddy Anderson’s dead body lay, nothing was happening. The birds still chirped, the wind was blowing, and the insects weren’t on him yet. His parents would look for him soon, but until then his body would be kept fresh by the breeze. The blood in his arms was still fluid, but unmoving.
As the day began to grow dark, Conrad Christopher was looking over his shoulder roughly every other step. He had convinced himself now that he was being chased or hunted. Although no one had seen what happened to Buddy Anderson, in Conrad’s mind everyone would know. He had not yet come to realize that his thoughts were confined to his head, and not broadcast on a signal that was picked up by radio stations. He assumed his mother could read his mind, but he was just a terrible liar – his ticks and sweaty palms gave him away.
It wasn’t long before he came to a fence. It was a climbable fence, with an electric wire, but nevertheless a climbable fence. Conrad was familiar with electric fences. He had been tricked into grabbing ahold of the charged wire on the Anderson’s property a few years before, and he felt that same sting as he stared down this new fence. He cringed and paced with an anger that had surprisingly only just now entered his body. The weight of his situation had finally found him, and he was overwhelmed. The energy flowing through him was a pure rush of frustration – the sort of thing that a caged animal resorts to when it realizes the walls around it are real and immovable.
Conrad began his fit.
He raged and swung his arms like out of control bullwhips, slashing at the air. He pulled at his hair and screamed, muffling his cries as he shoved a fist into his mouth and bit down, blood trickling from the backs of his hands. In an instant he was on the ground, pulling at the grass and weeds, slapping at the dirt, and pounding his spit and tears into it. He slapped himself in the face, and gritted, pulsing, fuming “why, you stupid fuck? You fucking retard.” His chest was a malfunctioning puffer-fish; inflating and deflating almost instantaneously. The sounds coming from his throat were raspy and grating; a mucus fueled gravel that had scared his mother in similar episodes. On the ground, out of adrenaline and gasping for breath, he stared at the fence. Behind it the moon was a see-through white disc on the hazy horizon. Conrad Christopher picked himself up off the ground he had attempted to destroy, and, shaking his foal legs, coiling them for release, he sprinted towards the fence in a glide, using his left foot as a spring board he leapt for the second rung of the wooden boards, just above his electric enemy, and as he found his footing he swung his other leg to the top and bounded over to the other side. It was a distinctly new form of grace, but he did not dwell on it. His eyes on the horizon, he ran towards the moon.
Click on the image to view it full-size.
