Explaining my ugly things.

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:

  1. He was missing part of his index finger at his second knuckle. 
  2. He always wore work pants, plaid shirts, and suspenders.
  3. He never shaved.  Just trimmed his whiskers so that they left horrendous scruff-burn on our cheeks.
  4. He took his dentures out to eat.
  5. Every word to his “Pal O’ Mine” song.
  6. 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.
  7. 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 Madonna…

Mine

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?

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One thought on “Explaining my ugly things.

  1. So that’s a big no on giving me the heads to scare my mom?

    Very cool. My Grandpa passed away two weeks ago. He had a gigantic beltbuckle collection. It makes me want to buy one… or nine.

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