The Mystery of the Severed Head
I decided to try moving the studio out of the dining room back into the sunroom. So far it's so nice to not have painting supplies always in the middle of everything we do. Plus, I can put my clay head on display. Can you see it on the window sill behind the easel?It has a story.
(Click the photo to enlarge).
My brother and sister-in-law just bought the house we spent our teens in. In the enthusiasm of new ownership, Mandi (sister-in-law) was checking out all the crannies. The attic doesn't have a real floor, just beams, so she was on a ladder on the second floor reaching into the attic with a poker to see what she could find under the pink insulation. To her delight she found some fire place accessories. This renewed her zeal for discovery, until she hit something hard and unearthed a nose. She screamed in a panic to my brother that there was a head in the attic, but he didn't seem too alarmed.
Mandi realized Reuben (brother) wasn't likely to be part of the solution and calmed down long enough to reason that a real severed head wouldn't likely be that small, or that hard. Not my reasoning. If I came across a head in the attic of a strange house, I probably would have been sure it was someone's remains either petrified-turned to stone, or possibly shrunken from some tribal ritual I'm sure I've heard of on TV...
Mandi fished it out, found out it was a clay sculpture and when I came for a visit she was happy to hand it over.
I made that head in highschool and my mom took a very strong, passionate dislike to it. She said it was the spitting image of one of her ex-boyfriends. I wasn't even allowed to display it in my bedroom. She insisted it go in the attic. We've moved a lot, and I remember thinking someday the future owners were likely to be terrorised by it.