This guy is a genius. He creates art from junk, scavenged from the Brimfield antique show. Most of it is scraps that nobody else wants. An animal’s skull mounted inside a wheel. A high chair for a baby giant towers at the edge of the woods and the wreck of a boat founders in the garden, both built from random planks and posts. A guitar from an oil can and a percussion section hidden inside a piece of battered luggage. A collection of doorknobs. In the air around the loft is thick with insects—not the mosquitoes that swarm outside, but creatures of rusted metal and scraps of wood, bound together by wire and suspended from the ceiling. One has wings made from twisted, rusted nails long since yanked from a floorboard. A giant barn filled with scraps of wood sleeps in a dark mass behind the house.
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