You don’t need to tell me. I DO know that I *may* have a small problem. It started a long time ago in the pre-Photoshop 90’s when I cut a photo of myself and placed it strategically atop a magazine cut-out of Jean-Claude Van Damme (I know, but he was hot back then) so it looked like he had his arms wrapped around me. My experimentation in splicing began a collage kick that went on for years, until I ended up immersed in the dark underworld of Photoshop in the late 90’s. Aside from using Photoshop weekly for my job, I still often indulge in the pleasures of ‘shopping as my own form of…therapy.
It has brought out a monster in me, though. On many occasions I’ve sat at the computer for hours cackling to myself as I twisted and mangled, mutated and distorted. My husband, on numerous occasions, has said to me, “There’s something wrong with you.” While I don’t disagree I wonder if Picasso felt that same “creative rush” moving an eye or an ear out of place. These days, it causes me great joy to see sites like “Chicks with Steve Buscemi Eyes” that put me into unhealthy fits of laughter. Additionally, Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance video offers some effects of oversized eyes and extra-tiny waists similar to 2-D photo Frankensteining. I personally think it’s genius and fun to look at. After all, magazines have been ‘shopping the proverbial flaws out of women for YEARS. Well, I say leave the flaws in and THEN ADD SOME… and maybe then you’ll have my interest. There is an iPhone app called FatBooth Photos and it provides levity and laughter to countless people who wish to see themselves morbidly obese…so I’m not alone in feeling that life’s too short to look at boring stuff.
The slideshow is just a few abominations for your pleasure. Let me be clear that I do not intend to be cruel in my depictions nor do any of these images even closely resemble the people from which they originate. I do not make fun of actual people with deformities or laugh at anyone who has been maimed. I laugh at this particular creative process in the context of imagination; because I KNOW it isn’t real. (This “knowing it’s not real” stuff has allowed me to enjoy horror movies for decades.)
However, judge me as you see fit: I will continue to snap on the hypothetical plastic glove and whisper to no one in particular, “scalpel”?