The Severed Heads…
My grandfather, who passed away when I was in grade 6, had three of these heads on his wall at his front door. There are a few things I remember about my grandpa:
- He was missing part of his index finger at his second knuckle.
- He always wore work pants, plaid shirts, and suspenders.
- He never shaved. Just trimmed his whiskers so that they left horrendous scruff-burn on our cheeks.
- He took his dentures out to eat.
- Every word to his “Pal O’ Mine” song.
- Everyone called him Paddy, even though his name was Alvin, because he was a boxer and enjoyed liquor which, despite being Native Canadian and English, made him an honourary Irishman.
- And that he had three heads at his door, hung at a staggered angle, one of which was this one:
His name is Old Salt. He kind of looks like my grandpa, except my grandpa would never have let his whiskers grow this long. They’re not enough like a weapon.
They’re called Bosson Heads and I’d link to their website but they’re out of business now and all I can find is fan sites written in Comic Sans font, and I can’t support that. It’s hard to tell from these pictures, but they are incredibly life-like. Fine wrinkles, twinkly eyes, detailed strands of hair.
My first experience with “disposable income” coincided with my discovery of Ebay and one of my first purchases was a Bosson Head. And then another. And then nine more after that. And then I stopped. Because it was getting out of hand and I had no way of displaying them.
Now they reside in my basement, collecting dust. But I refuse to sell them because they remind me of my grandpa.
The Scary Clown…
I remember the day I got this. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I think I was about 9 or 10. I was having a very emotional day. I had cried nearly the entire day, for every reason and for no reason. I was sad, but I wasn’t.
The mall in my town used to have a flea market every Sunday and there was a vendor who sold these. The clown’s hair is so soft you can barely feel it. I wanted one so bad.
My mom had bought one with the intention of giving it to me for my birthday. But I was in a bad way that day and she was (is) a good mom, so she gave it to me early. It worked. I don’t think I stopped crying, but at least I had something to cry to.
Now it resides in a box labelled “Stuff I couldn’t throw away” because it reminds me of that day. And despite being so emotional, it was a good day.
The original lithograph by Edvard Munch. The Loving Woman (Madonna) 1895 – 1902
I didn’t finish this, as I can see looking at it now. I probably couldn’t see the point. It’s not like I could hang it up anywhere. Maybe one day I’ll finish it.
But for now, it resides behind some of my more G-rated pieces from high school, in the basement, away from prying eyes.
I have no explanation for the pig (not mine) or the Halloween pumpkinhead drunk dude. All I can say is that maybe I was drunk when I bought it. Unlikely, given that I don’t drink, but seriously. Why else would I have spent money on it?