It Started in the Shower

It all started in the shower, as good things often do. I said to myself, "I wish there was a squishy man toy. One, that looked like a weird monster." I had made polymer clay sculptures in the past, but the size of them made them pretty delicate. Thank you moving day.  I wanted something I could drop on the floor, or throw against the wall, by accident—without being left with a pile of polymer crumb dreams that would  go down the toilet of reality. 

 And that's when I realized, I had always like car upholstery. It's weirdly smooth, yet rubbery surface... it's wipeable, and if you accidently sat on it, not only would you bounce back—but it would have given you a soft cushion during the short exercise.

 After many attempts and too many hours of trial and error. After many seltzer waters. After learning how to use a sewing machine... and constantly sewing the wrong sides together. After trial and error (many) and learning to make patterns... and make eyeballs, and wicked shoes, and and do all sorts of things I never thought I would do when I was seven. I had finally created something I was happy with. I created something weird.

 In short, I blame my mother and father.

With any new endeavor, there always marketing. Artists are famous for NOT marketing. We'd rather spend our time shutting the world out and creating art. Irony at it's finest. The big mighty dude in the sky says, "You'll shall make art... but, well you're going to have to figure out how to promote it."