En-Uk as Artist
My nine-year-old son, En-Uk, got interested in computer art sometime last year and created a number of images that I found rather striking . . . though I admit to bias. Perhaps I should submit these to the judgment of such professional artists as Terrance Lindall or Anahit Vart?
Anyway, for your viewing pleasure (or not), here are En-Uk's works of art -- the first one being a self-portrait:
Trust me, I didn't hit him. The scene (whatever it bloody well is) springs purely from his crimson-and-clover imagination.
Next we see a screaming man, creatively titled "Screaming Man":
Contrary to appearances, this screaming fellow is not me. Unless he's actually screaming a song. In which case . . . it is me. Capped, too. You can't top that.
We find next the plague of yellow dust blown from the Gobi Desert that annually descends upon the Korean Peninsula in springtime:
Not especially very yellow. More like a princely purple rain.
Now comes a figure typical to the Korean scene:
Mr. Ajushi. He's everywhere. All the time. He likes his soju and his kimchi. Hmmm . . . so do I. Well, not so much the soju, I guess.
Next, we see yet another scene typical to Korea:
Iguana, but more commonly known as 'hoguana', it is typically seen in pet shops. (With a bit of paternal nudging, I might turn the artist into a Razorback fan.)
But here's something never seen on the peninsula:
No strange people here in Korea. None with navels so elevated, anyway. Plenty of aliens, however:
Me, for instance. But I'm a legal one, and I promise never to abduct you. Much as I'd like to. For science.
Then, for some reason, this:
Never seen a stone fish in Korea. But the following is currently rather common:
Your typical B-Boy is something like a break dancer. Possibly "B-Boy" means "Break-Boy." Possibly. But probably not.
And what's this I hear in response to my musings:
I thought so. Unpleasant laughter.
But there are worse things than the laughter of ridicule:
The 'monster' known as a ghost, for instance!
Next, the fabulous "Zola Man," impersonating a lamppost for Félix Fénéon and his anarchist friend to converse behind:
J'accuse! That's a misspelling, En-Uk! Should be "Jola Man"! But it ain't . . . according to the artist.
Finally, we turn to the old, very old, very paleolithic-old Stone Age. Out of Bedrock. It's a page right out of history:
Poor Dino. Very far from home, I fear.
Rather like me in that respect.