this is why although i certainly respect the established and well known artistic geniuses, i have nothing but contempt for the sycophants who acknowledge their splendor exclusively, much to the chagrin of the artist on the come-up. the brightest diamonds often shine on well within the hard, dark shroud of anthracite.
or something like that.
the gentleman pictured above is Brit micro-sculptor Willard Wigan. and put simply, he is a master. albeit a mostly unknown one.
any asshole can fashion David or a Pieta out of a half ton slab of marble. but it takes a true Wizzzard to carve a statue out of a grain of sand.
as a child in the state school system of merry 'ol England, Wigan suffered from learning disabilities that made school even more miserable than it is anyway.
bring on the miniscule miracles.
Wigan paints with a hair plucked from a house fly's back and admits that the actual work of making the sculptures is a real bitch.
while working on Alice, as in Wonderland, she ended up going down the wrong rabbit hole.
the point during the report on Nightline when i really began to fucking trip face was when he said that as a child he built houses for ants but is now capable, thanks to the help of his microscope, of crafting sculptures on the microscopic level. think red blood cells.
a bold claim. i just chalked it all up to the artisan's delusion. until they actually showed the shit! then you're left with no choice but to believe.
balancing Charlie Chaplin on an eyelash was pretty dopesick, but once you start fuckin around on that erythrocyte tip? unstoppable!
sure his childhood was one of isolation and rejection. but don't feel too bad for the bloke just yet. Wigan sold his collection to the tune of roughly $20 million.
and that's what it's all about, innit?