Coop's portaits evoke the 'school of anguish' from Man Ray's surrealistic films and such animators as Gerald Scarfe, but take the expression of postmodern horror to a more advanced state, in which the "world scream" is no longer directed outwards, but is twisted back inwards through the imploded facial features, as if the only one who can hear you is yourself. In Bush's America, there is no one to listen to you, and thus the expression can only circle back on itself in a self-muted coccoon-like wrapping.
Though once best known as a musician (Dropsy, Eskimo, The Beth Lisick Ordeal, Top Brown, Supercasanova), and despite his skill with a paint brush (MFA, Mills College), and regardless of his gainful employment as a graphic designer, illustrator and animator, Mr. Cooper has elected, for reasons unknown, to feature only his marginal doodles on this blog. Your comments are highly encouraged, as Mr. Cooper suffers from a crippling need to please.
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Coop's portaits evoke the 'school of anguish' from Man Ray's surrealistic films and such animators as Gerald Scarfe, but take the expression of postmodern horror to a more advanced state, in which the "world scream" is no longer directed outwards, but is twisted back inwards through the imploded facial features, as if the only one who can hear you is yourself. In Bush's America, there is no one to listen to you, and thus the expression can only circle back on itself in a self-muted coccoon-like wrapping.
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