Yep, that image pretty much sums it up! Large-scale, hyperreal paintings on custom-cut panel, and a pug named Mochi. I love this episode so much. Barcelona born, New York based artist Gemma Gene is on the podcast today, and she is not only super talented, she’s also hilarious! You can listen right up there under Gemma & Mochi, or download ART FOR YOUR EAR wherever you get your podcasts.
First, a bunch of perfectly painted metallic balloons, Mochi for scale, and a couple of gigantic bows on cut panel:
Gasp! Gorgeous! ps. I threw in that last image as proof that these are actually paintings.
Next, a few very, very special gems:
Awww, that little gem right in the middle is ‘Yellow Gem’, Gemma’s baby girl! And yes, her name really is Yellow (not Maria) which might be the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. Oh, and that action shot is what Gemma and I were talking about re: dropping off a commission to Voltz Clarke Gallery… as the paint dried!
Okay, now we’re going back in time a bit to where it all began… objects wrapped in aluminum foil, because, who doesn’t love an insane challenge:
… and clearly a painted foil lobster is the gateway to foil lobster sculptures!
Next [drumroll please]… iiiiiiit’s MOCHI!
Gah! Too much cuteness… I can’t handle it! Also, can you see why she must be absolutely exhausted!? Yeah, me too.
Of course, a little plug for both of Mochi’s books is a must:
Hilarious! “Living with Mochi” is available right this second, and “Pugpyhood” can be pre-ordered.
And finally, I obviously had to include this beauty… Gemma, Mochi and the Twinchis in matching iridescent outfits:
Ah-mazing! Also amazing… everything about this conversation! Thank you so much to Gemma for taking the time to share her hilarious stories, and of course, thank YOU for listening. I’ll be back with a brand new episode of ART FOR YOUR EAR in two weeks.
Other links:
- Gemma on Instagram
- Mochi on Instagram
- “Living with Mochi” Book, Available now!
- “Pugpyhood” Book, Releasing Sept ’22
- Tom Cote Book, Illustrated by Gemma
- Voltz Clarke Gallery : New York
- Gallery RED : Mallorca, Spain
- Steven Holl Architects
[…] Source link […]
[…] Source link […]
[…] Source link […]
The pre-cum leaks, like a babbling brook, from the boy’s erect and pulsing cock, depositing its tiny droplets of juice onto the arm-hairs of his proud father. His father squeezes the nuts of his son, tighter and tighter, releasing more of the youthful essence. “What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad.
“Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad. I didn’t move and I didn’t want to move because the smell in there is so toxic. I can smell daddy’s unwashed ass in there. I was also so happy as daddy sat on the toilet to released his scent just for me to sniff. Just when The scent faded away I heard the daddy say, “Come here, boy.” I saw daddy sitting on my couch with nothing but a white brief on. The bulge was staring at me. I knew I was going to be having a wonderful night.
His bare ass melts to the lid of the toilet bowl. He sweats from the steam and the exertions from his continued pounding of the fierceness of his cock. He wiggles as his ass opens, squeaking on the plastic surface of the thrown lid, as he takes whiffs from the cum soaked pouch of the jock that covers his face. “Lookin’ good, son. Lookin’ good.” His dad says over the stream of the warm cleansing water as it caresses his mature man body.
His father unbuttons his shirt and throws it to the bathroom floor. Where his son is like the mythical David, cast in stone with blonde locks and cherubic face. The father is dark and with a day’s growth of stubble on his face. “I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.”
“Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly. The pre-cum leaks, like a babbling brook, from the boy’s erect and pulsing cock, depositing its tiny droplets of juice onto the arm-hairs of his proud father. His father squeezes the nuts of his son, tighter and tighter, releasing more of the youthful essence.
“Lookin’ good, son. Lookin’ good.” His dad says over the stream of the warm cleansing water as it caresses his mature man body. “You have not fucked, have you, my son? Have you?” His father asks, as he readjusts the cock covered and swelling in his khaki pants. “I thought as much.”
“That you are, son. You are busting at the seams with your youth and muscles. Rippled from those vigorous physical workouts and stroking sessions. I bet.” His dad says. “You are gonna hafta to take care of that or you are gonna be miserable. You know that son, doncha. You know, I am right.” “Yeah.” He answers his dad. “…and I was ‘going commando’ too.”
He does not hear the slamming of the front door. Neither does he hear the footsteps on the wood floor in the hallway. The shower drowns away all this noise. “What are ya now, by the way?”
Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose. “Once you plant that cock of yours in some squirmy hole and empty those warm balls of yours into a moist wet hole. Then you are on your way to becoming a man, and only then will you, come-of-age. But it is only a step onto the winding pathway towards manhood. It is my job to teach you what it means to be a man.” His father stands as he finishes his sentence. Loosening his belt and pulling his shirt out from the tucked confines of his pants.
His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. His father steps into the shower, turning on the water. As he soaks and lathers himself up under the lukewarm stream of water, he fondles his cock and balls. His cock soon mimics that of his son.
He dries himself but his throbbing cock continues to pulse as it grows harder because of his youth. The sensation intensifies. The feeling is wonderful. He can hear his cock throbbing in his ears. “What…huh…what, dad?” He asks, puzzled by the question from his dad. As his cock is mere inches from his dad’s face.
“You have not fucked, have you, my son? Have you?” His father asks, as he readjusts the cock covered and swelling in his khaki pants. “I thought as much.” “Yeah. Yessir. Dad.” Garrett mutters.
“I ain’t a-talking ‘bout how big ya cock is, boy. I am talking ‘bout ya, weight. Your height.” His dad says. “I kinda figured on how big you are down there. That’s obvious. It makes me proud of you. My son. Of what I created, along with ya mother.” His father unbuttons his shirt and throws it to the bathroom floor. Where his son is like the mythical David, cast in stone with blonde locks and cherubic face. The father is dark and with a day’s growth of stubble on his face.
“Do it!” His dad orders. “I ain’t a-talking ‘bout how big ya cock is, boy. I am talking ‘bout ya, weight. Your height.” His dad says. “I kinda figured on how big you are down there. That’s obvious. It makes me proud of you. My son. Of what I created, along with ya mother.”
“Yes, sir.” He says as he straightens up, standing erect as his member pulses to life between his legs, and in his father’s right hand, which are firmly locked on his balls. “Yes, sir, I do.” “Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection.