Neanderthal Elf

This was the second time I took my chances with clay modeling (the first one turned really bad). It's up to you to decide what he is. Some think he looks like Gollum. Others say he is a homo neanderthal or an elf (because of the ears). I like to say he is a neanderthal elf. That would do it! I know he looks sad and tired and ready to fall apart, but believe me he had a terrible journey back home. Inside my suitcase with all my clothes and books. And, of course, he is a sensitive clay guy. So there you go...

I wanted to add more detail but I preferred a more abstract look. No, I'm joking. It was difficult and I was lazy. But I like him that way.

Archigram studies

"For my world is the the world of science-fiction... Conceived in my mind and placed upon paper with pencil and ink and brush and sweat and a great deal of love for my world. For I am a science-fiction artist. My name is WOOD."

This is a series of ink sketches I made while I was working on a project about Archigram, the avant-garde architectural group, based in London and active during the 60s. I find their unconventional idea of architecture really amusing and inspiring.

Clay architecture

A study of Joachim Haider's organic architecture.

The Crystal Palace

Everybody has a castle inside their soul. A castle where they hide and no one has access into. It's just that some people have the opportunity to make that castle real and hide their body too. Lord Coldlaw is one of those painfully trapped people who seemingly have a perfect life, a perfect financial situation, who are adored by millions of people and who can literally have anything they ask for. And what he chose to have is this giant concrete castle, which everyone admires but nobody dares to touch, because it can pierce them. He built that castle to escape everything and disappear and to be alone with the voices in his head. He likes to walk barefoot for hours through the long, dark corridors with the cold, stone floors. On the rainy days, he sits in front of one of the few windows with the dark glasses and watches the raindrops crash on the rocks. During these days, the voices in his head are so loud, that he can't hear the rain. But his eyes, they see clearer than ever. However, his favorite place is the small balcony in the west. He sits there every evening and watches the sunset, that marvelous dance of soft colors. But the sunset is not beautiful nor peaceful. For he is alone. And in the center of his soul, there is a huge hiatus. He watches the sunset without two hands touching him, nor two eyes looking at him, without having anything to wait for, nor anything to hope for.

One day, while he was watching the sunset, he heard a knock at the backdoor of his castle.