Now there are Daft Punk helmet replica’s and then there are those created by 27 year old prop maker Harrison Krix.
This guy can turn his hand to so many different aspects of fabrication and with such an eye for perfection that I would probably prefer his replicas to the real thing.
To call his creations props, and in particular this helmet, just does not do justice to the skill, love and all round awesomeness that he pulls together and harnesses with such perfection.
I know I can’t have one. But it doesn’t stop me wanting one.
Watch this video to catch a glimpse of what is involved.
Wow! I mean really, wow!
It is so cool to see that there is actually room in this world for someone to create such art and actually be able to sell and (hopefully) make a good living out of it.
Now, OK, I can see some negative waves heading this way for the fact that it can be disassembled to create a gun, but take a look at the guy’s other work.
I really wish I had the money…
I wonder if airport security would figure that as a threat or not.
Anyway, a most marvelous piece of interactive art.
Stories of secret underground bunkers, refuges and even cities have always fascinated me, so it was quite a suprise to find that there is one not too far from me.
100 feet beneath the village of Corsham in Wiltshire, England, is a secret subterranean cold war city called Burlington, which the British Government was to have retreated to in the event of a nuclear war.
Immense and impressive as it was, and still is to some extent, it somehow doesn’t seem adequate.
Can’t say much more than check out this fine example of creating something new and excellent out of elements which is already great in their own right.
Back in the mid seventies there was a marvelous large format (11×16 inches) monthly magazine in the UK dedicated equally to both science fiction writing and science fiction art. It only lasted a couple of years, but by happily coinciding with my formative teenage years it left a lasting and deep impression on me.
Whilst I unfortunately lack a scanner large enough to scan my own magazines, I have found a link to a gallery of the front covers that gives you a glimpse of what lay within. SFM Cover Scans
The Host is one of my favourite films of the last couple of years. It’s a South Korean film about a (superb) monster and the effect it has on a hapless but likeable poor family.
There is a fair bit of humour, but the eyecandy of the monster and the feeling of empathy towards the family make it quite an exceptional film.
Remember the wobbly white sphere sentry that kept Patrick McGoohan a prisoner in the cult series of the same name? Well, here is a slightly more robust and capable modern version.
The Rotundus Groundbot can nip along at an impressive rate and would seem ideal for patroling large flat areas.
Maybe they could roam the strees of our towns and cities after dark as an additional security measure.
The could be mounted with paintguns loaded with indelible dye ammunition to further help identify miscreants.
Find out more about these globular automatons here.
Here is an example of how one work of art can lead to a string of others.
The above is a stop motion video incorporating a cracking silhouette animation that is in turn inspired by a mind blowing song. And in turn that song has it’s own history of inspirations.
rarely, just rarely, does such a trail of creation result in something so downright marvelous.
Enjoy.
Bad Apple!!
Arrange= Masayoshi Minoshima Lyrics= Haruka Vocal= nomico
Outside.
Everywhere I go I am monitored. The cameras on every street corner and shop doorway identify my face, my gait, and even my silhouette. A myriad sensors in the walls and floors track the tags in my shoes, my coat, my arm.
I am free to go where I please, but it is not free for me to do so. Every metre I drive, or pedal, or walk makes me poorer as the owners of the ground beneath me take their dues in taxes and fees. Just occupying space that belongs to someone else incurs an automated charge. And every space is owned by someone. Even window shopping isn’t free.
The government, the police, the supermarket; they all know where I’ve been, where I am, where I will be. They take this information, without permission, as their right, and use it to tax me, to investigate me, to advertise at me.
I don’t go out much.
Inside.
Most household objects collect data on their environment and use. Everything I do is monitored directly, or inferred. What I remove from the fridge, how long I spend in bed, even my health is checked by the toilet and the mirrors.
If I am not working I am losing money. Every song I play I am charged for, each and every time I listen to it. Each time I read an ePage, a micro-payment is billed to me. Every film I watch or info-stream I access is charged per view, per bit. Every game world I escape to costs me by the second to inhabit. And on top of the charges, all the books, songs, films and games are saturated in advertising. I am assured the charges would be much higher if this were not so. Occasionally I see my own work. My hateful job is placing products in novels.
These words I have typed will be monitored and profiled. I may get a visit from my “Neighbourhood Mentor”. He might confiscate my most prized possessions, my original paper copies of “1984” and “Brave New World”. He doesn’t appreciate irony.
