Mickey or a Ringie?
In the Isle of Man there is something of a superstition whereby Manx people can’t say the name of one of those little furry things that were blamed for the Black Death, pestilence in general and a whole host of other nefarious things. The reasons for this have dissipated into the mists of time but the superstition remains and due to this quirk in Manx folklore there are a number of socially acceptable local alternatives which include joey, longtail, ringie, iron fella and roddan. Recently young people have also begun saying r-a-t, owing to the influence of English immigrants but older people on the Isle of Man don’t tend to listen to those Jonny come-overs too much and certainly not on such serious subjects as these little buggers. There is a comparable taboo against uttering the word ‘rabbit’ on the Isle of Portland. Here ends the lesson.
There we were having a few quiet drinks which somehow turned into a drinking session of barbaric proportion when we decided to have a little game. This led to a little trouble as none of us could make up our minds as to what to play so we decided it like any group of drunks do – we had a small play fight over it. The winner victorious they decided on Pictionary but alas to their disappointment it wasn’t in the game cupboard. We settled on drawing portraits of each other which as you can imagine descended rather quickly into a unimaginable mess. Out of all the faces we found the next day this is the only one we are willing to show . The rest though have been filed away in to the id-iom motivationl file for when we need a quick hit of inspiration
Check the grid on that!
On the list of things I never thought I’d get for Christmas a box full of real human teeth was pretty high up there. So imagine my surprise (and joy – we’re artists and like weird stuff) when that’s exactly what we were presented with when back home for Christmas. It just so happens that a couple we know who like to visit the auction rooms came upon the box whilst at an auction and immediately thought of us. How very kind.
Although we were on holiday art never sleeps so we donned our thinking caps whilst watching the first Despicable Me film and, thankfully, that was all the spark we needed to get an idea on the go. I’m usually my own worst enemy when it come to getting something finished but this time I had nieces & nephews, soiree’s & parties, walks & talks and family & friends to contend with so it was a little slow to get to completion. Nevertheless, being the plucky urban artists that we are, we managed to get it finished with minutes to spare before being ferried off to the airport for my return flight. I give you ‘Check the grid on that’ which could handily be subtitled ‘the boy who never brushed his teeth’. So, happy new year and don’t forget to brush!!
I am a sexual tiger, hear me roar!!
This piece was made as a thank you to our tame web monkey who helped us out with our website. We had to get some help due to the fact that one half of id-iom nearly had an embolism just trying to log in to the site and I nearly lost all my hair scratching my head in confusion. With a little help though we eventually managed to log in but let me tell you that was only the start. SEO tracking, site population, themes, data entry, analytics, search optimisation, these are only a few of the things I forgot as soon as I was told.
With all that in mind we decided it was just too much for our measly little brains and called in the experts. Just like the A-team we first had to locate our globe travelling asset. We found him in Norway but as luck would have it was passing through London a few days later, so we hastily organised a meeting. We decided it best to meet on neutral ground so therefore the pub was decided on for our meeting, as nothing can every go wrong at a pub before lunchtime on a Thursday.
In fact things did go a little pear shaped but that’s a story for another time. Suffice it to say that enough business was conducted that we needed to give him a little something for his time. ‘I am a sexual tiger’ is the result. And what a fine specimen he is too.
The short lived reign of the blue faced bastard
Not all monarchs can be like Queen Elizabeth II who has just celebrated her 90th birthday and is now in to her 64th year as Queen. On the flip side of the coin is this true rapscallion of immense proportions – His self proclaimed royal highness Sir Asmund Quayle King of Mann. His reign only lasted for 3 days however until the appropriate authorities stepped in to apprehend him. He escaped, of course, but I’m sure that’s not the last we’ll hear of him.
The only thing left after the raid was this hastily drawn formal portrait of Sir Asmund painted on a cupboard door. If you happen to come across him in any of his numerous guises please be careful…
OMG! It was like totes amazeballs. Seriously bae was like throwing some shapes to Drake and then he wibbeted and the whole room went YOLO-loco. I think someone got it on their mobi #seriouslylikeaboss and if it isn’t trending right now then I’m like ‘Playas gonna play. Haters gonna hate.’ You know what I mean bredrin?
Materials: Paint pen, acrylic, ink, spray paint and charcoal
If you’ve ever seen Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ then you’ll probably have some inkling of what ornithophobia is. It’s a type of specific phobia based on an irrational fear of birds. The thing is I don’t have ornithophobia and I don’t even know anyone with it (as sometimes these phobia’s can be learned responses). I put sole responsibility for this picture on the muse…
There I was with a tatty old canvas (that originally had some suitably vile printed picture of a rose on it) when the idea of painting a bird popped in to my abnormally small mammalian brain. And who am I to go against the grain? After looking at said bird the muse changed tact and sent me off trying to write some pithy if not indulgent text for the piece. After some sitting around drinking tea I came up with:
They hop from branch to branch
before they disappear
to see the birds
and hear their song
will always bring me fear
After reading that little ditty I think we can all agree that the Poet Laureate has nothing to worry about…