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I grew up in a small but comfortable house in northeastern Maine.  The backyard overlooked the ocean from a short, rocky outcrop.  The front faced onto the gravel road that Father drove to and from work.  A poorly defined gravel driveway ended behind the house at a small ramshackle shed that I dared not enter under Father’s strict orders.

         Mother never strayed far from the house despite her apparent contempt for the simplicity of her everyday existence.  She cooked.  She cleaned.  She laundered the clothes and washed the dishes and did all of those things that a good housewife should.  But every afternoon, she plopped my brother Shane and I in front of the TV to watch cartoons while she gazed longingly at the sea.

A surreal seascape with a pine tree and coastline going off into darkness.

Shane and I shared a room.  Our window faced a small broken-paned hole in the ramshackle shed.  Late at night, long after the world was asleep, a faint glow emanated from that shed.  Always careful not to wake my brother, I pulled myself up to the window and peered out.

Every night, Father stole away into the shed and flicked on a small lamp.  He opened a door in the floor, from whence he pulled a large wooden box.  Out of this box he drew the most beautiful fur coat.  The brownish-gray fur glowed in the lamplight as if it were alive.  He gently massaged oils into the coat to keep it supple and carefully replaced it under the floorboards.  And when he had finished, he withdrew from this haven and locked his secret firmly behind a deadbolt.  Until one winter day…

A surreal seascape with a rocky coastline going off into darkness.

It was biting cold that day, the kind of cold that gnaws away at your bones from the inside out.  Shane and I ran home quicker than usual, hoping for two mugs of hot chocolate to thaw us out.  Preferably heaping with marshmallows.  But Mother was nowhere to be found.

“Mother,” I called to the cupboards in the empty kitchen.

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“Mother,” Shane called to the silent TV in the empty living room.

“Mother!” I screamed to the howling wind out the front door.

         Nothing.

         The wind beat the porch door into the front of the house with a rhythmic “Ker-chunk!”  A terrified Shane dashed about the house crying.  He frantically searched for any scrap of evidence while I braved the outdoors.

A dark surreal seascape with waves out to sea.

I rounded the house, past the frozen flowerbed and along the wind-tattered backyard fence.  Another loud “Ker-chunk!” resounded through the air, but not from the front porch door.  A chill wormed its way up my spine as I spied the driveway.

         “Ker-chunk!”  The door to the ramshackle shed lay in ruins, leaving a splintered gaping hole.  In that hole, Mother swayed back and forth.  Her clenched fist tightened around a hammer as she swung into the floorboards with a wild, untamed lunacy.  I melded into the fence, unable to move and scarcely able to breathe.  I stared at her.

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         A final “Ker-chunk!” and the floorboards loosed their secret.  Mother madly grabbed the wooden box out from under the floor of the shed.  She pried it open, her black eyes brimming over with tears.  She pulled out the fur coat and barked a shrill cry to the wind.

Another dark surreal seascape with waves out to sea.

Mother ran from the tattered shed clutching the fur to her chest and darted around the back of the house.  Her gaze slipped right through me as she tore past, unaware of my presence.  Meanwhile, the gravel road growled and spat under Father’s tires as he crested the hill towards the house.

         Father sped into the driveway upon seeing the shed.  His truck jolted to a harsh stop.  He erupted from his poorly parked truck and raced around the back of the house just as Mother hurled herself over the rocky outcrop and into the sea.  My heart sank into my stomach and my legs became jelly, free from their rigid, frozen stance.  “No!” I screamed as I dashed to his side.  He clenched my hand tightly, fighting back tears, while I buried my face in the warm cuff of his coat.

A surreal seascape with two figures looking out from behind a fence atop a rocky outcrop.

         “Such a pity.  Such an exotic beauty,” the townsfolk murmured.  But Father and I knew.  She had been our selkie.  She had merely returned home.

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

Jennifer Weigel is a multi-disciplinary mixed media conceptual artist residing in Kansas USA. Weigel utilizes a wide range of media to convey her ideas, including assemblage, drawing, fibers, installation, jewelry, painting, performance, photography, sculpture, video and writing. You can find more of her work at: https://www.jenniferweigelart.com/ https://www.jenniferweigelprojects.com/ https://jenniferweigelwords.wordpress.com/

Original Creations

Snails a Whorl Whirl Whore World…

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So a friend and I made some artsy snails awhile back. Essentially this was in response to her granddaughter proclaiming that her favorite animals are whorl snails. My friend heard “whore snails” and was a bit perturbed that the child would use such a word so nonchalantly, whether or not she knew what it meant. But then again toddler-speak is like that sometimes… Anyway, it stuck.

So we made some whore snails, all glammed up and ready to go. We started with these flat metal snails and then painted and decorated them, to whore them up a bit. I figured this would be apropos after my recent Valentine’s Day posts and that the end results were horrifying enough to appear here.

My friend's whore whorl snail
My friend’s whore whorl snail

This is my friend’s creation. I especially like the David Bowie star and cherry bling to match her cherry red lipstick. The purple shell is a great color on her too. I think my friend went back and decorated her shell more after the fact, but I didn’t see the snail after those changes.

My whore snail
My whore snail

And here’s my whore snail. She’s a bit more of an ice queen with her deceptively lovey-dovey eyes and mouth full of poison darts, like the underwater snails do. I believe I called her a Hoar Whore Whorl Snail as when the discussion first came up I heard “hoar” and thought of hoarfrost. Hence the ice queen take…

And another friend joined us via Zoom just to visit and have fun making art together.

Another whore snail, drawn by our friend over Zoom
Another whore snail, drawn by our friend over Zoom

This little Zoomed in snail is kinda cute, like she’s out on the beach in her bikini… Mixed media on paper.

So if that wasn’t disturbing enough, check out my inappropriate Shrinky Dinks posted here before, or maybe this Eye Candy Peeps Easter basket, both taking some innocuous thing(s) turning into something… else…

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Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites. Her friends will remain anonymous for now…

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Original Creations

Have a Dystopian Girls on Film Valentine’s Day

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So it’s finally actually Valentine’s Day, and thus marks the final segment of our dysfunctional dystopian romance. So far, we’ve survived both Gen X and Krampusnacht, what else could possibly be in store? Girls on Film…

Valentine's Day card Girls on Film
Girls on Film Valentine’s Day card from Jennifer Weigel

Image description: Video camera umbrella shower succubus stares through the lens at the viewer, surrounded by eerie Cthulhoid horror embellishments with text.

Text reads: Happy Valentine’s Day; lipstick cherry all over the lens as she’s falling; give me shudders in a whisper; take me up ’til I’m shooting a star; (she’s more than a lady)

OK so this Valentine’s Day dystopia ends in a Duran Duran video, because of course it does. If the video doesn’t load properly, you can find it by following this link. Girls on Film.

Duran Duran official video

Here’s the camera eye succubus all by itself, for your viewing pleasure. Actually this is the original original image from an Unselfie performance art piece in the shower before I decided to forego the umbrella. Girls on Film.

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Unselfie performance art video still
Video still

Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites.

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

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Original Creations

Krampus and Jennifer Weigel wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day

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Krampus got a little confused and decided to celebrate Krampusnacht for St. Valentine instead of St. Nicholas. So Happy Valentine’s Day, as it were. No real surprise there, the whipping can go either way…

Here’s a before image of a doll like this one started as, one of those Christmas caroler figures.

Working Boy caroler figure - Before the makeover
Working Boy caroler figure – Before the makeover

And here are some after images to burn into your brain through your retinas.

Krampus’ eyes and horns are black light sensitive. The pin is a hand beaded piece that I lucked into at thrift and was perfect for this, nice and gaudy. Because even Krampus says you gotta have bling – it is Valentine’s Day after all.

Caroler turned Krampus - detail of cape
Detail of cape

And here’s a detail shot of the cape so you can see the chubby cheeky angels. Just like on all those Italian ceilings, these angels love to look down upon you in bed not sleeping, just like they would do. Such pervs. Perfect for creepy Christmas and Valentine’s Day alike…

If you want to check out more of my altered dolls, I have posted several to Haunted MTL here:

Fashion Zombies

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Heartbreak Hotel

Mummy Dearest

Catharsis

Fairy Wands

She Wolf

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Queen of Everything

More Altered Dolls

Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.

Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or on her writing, fine art, and conceptual projects websites.

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