Just WOW! 👌👌 pic.twitter.com/ge9jYy3s4U— Figen.. (@TheFigen) May 3, 2019
I tried to find a YouTube version of this but with "nails" in the search you get a million videos on fingernails.
The following is about fingernails.
Imagine spending so much time obsessed with your fingernails. Being a woman must be really weird.
"Honey, are you done with your fingernails yet?"
"No. They're still drying."
"Can't you apply your quick dry solution, Dear?"
"I did, but it still takes some time."
"Well, hurry up! We're late for the dinner."
"But I still have to do my toes."
"Grrrr."
"Calm down."
"Listen, you will NOT poke my butt with those talons of yours."
"Who wants to, you freak? Why else do you think I grow them so long?"
See? They limit your martial activities. Like doing the dishes. Planting seedlings. Rotating the tires. Unclogging the garbage disposer. Replacing a fan belt. Sanding the cabinets. Changing the kitty litter.
I believe that is the point.
(My mother had her nails done every week. My dad liked it. My sisters do not do this. All the other women I know simply take great care of their nails. Without any nonsense.)
I hate it when a YouTube video is showing something like a package of seeds but all that you actually see are eight exquisitely manicured fingernails. "See my fingernails I mean seeds?"
Anyway, fingernails dominate the search for [black and white Marlyn Monroe nails].
The following is about flathead nails.
Here's the thing. You are an artist. How would you do this?
How would you make Marlyn Monroe picture from hammering nails into wood?
Think.
Come on, think.
THINK I said!
Give up?
Here's how I would try it.
Take a photo and render it to black and white. Or else start with a picture that is already black and white.
Then run it through Photoshop or some other similar program. Use a "pixilate" filter. There are several types of pixilation. In photoshop, the one called "half tones" works best.
When you save the picture, you're given a choice of how many colors to use as a GIF file. Select "2". (The highest is 256)
We're talking nails here, and those are one color.
But nails come in different sizes and so are the pixilations.
If you're using all one size nail then you'll have to divide the number of them in the less saturated areas where small pixels appear.
Use water-based paste for easy removal and paste the picture to a board.
Hammer a nail wherever there is a pixel.
Remove the original picture.
Astound your peers, family and friends with your mad conceptual skills.
A nail gun might be useful but I don't know what kind of nails those things use.
18 comments:
The nail gun I use for framing uses 28 degree wire collated clip head 16d and 8d nails - that means that the nail heads have a little cutout to fit around the shank of the adjacent nail, kind of like the beginning of a lunar eclipse. Plus the gun drives the nails flush with the surface, so I don't think that would work. As with properly done shingle installation it is best to hand drive each nail using a hammer.
There's a 'nailing Marilyn' joke in there somewhere but I'm not woke up enough yet to find it.
Do you notice this one does not remove the original picture?
The subtle shading comes from the original photo still on the board.
It's not a picture made only from nails.
The nails are actually secondary.
What a rip off.
DBs, lol.
Nailed the likeness.
Marilyn was nailed by many and crucified for sins committed.
Regarding time spent obsessed with physical appearance: From my observation, what others choose to pay attention to or fixate on about their appearance varies. For me it's hair--I like my hair, and am willing to pay more than $12 for a cut. For others, it's shoes or boots, with cowboy boots costing thousands walked through manure. Or maybe a certain kind or color of pants. Or socks as it was for elder Bush. Or eyeshadow that makes them look like a raccoon or a zombie. Or starched shirts as it is for MrM. Or a beard grown and trimmed or let to go ZZ wild.
In a forest of nails, creating a unique image that sticks in the mind, expresses preference, or celebrates individuality matters.
The pop artist Roy Lichtenstein made a major career out of blown up pixilated images ala the comic strips. Didn't do anything for me but their deadpan aspect made his paintings catnip for intellekshals. I think Andy Warhole was much the greater artist, though great doesn't sit well as a descriptor regarding his work. Again, deadpan. But there's something going on there, something hard to put your finger on that makes his work compelling. His images of Marilyn and Elvis are....iconic. There's no denying it.
My great fashion statement is crazy pattern socks I buy at the Dollar Store. I've got a whole collection!
Oops, Warhol.
Imagine spending so much time obsessed with your fingernails. Being a woman must be really weird.
With regard to further nailing and communication conundrums, what did you hope to convey or evoke with those two sentences at the start of the post? In what way does the conclusion delivered in the second follow the first?
Are you honestly asking your readers to imagine something? Or choosing instead to use the imperative mood to express wonder (or is it judgment? or contempt?) about something that seems curious or weird to you?
Given the revelation further in, that personal reality (no imagination required) includes years spent with a mom who had her nails done once a week and a dad who apparently liked them done enough for you to know that he did, and sisters who eschew doing their nails as mom did, and the irritation that comes with seeing nails on seed packages; I read it as a weird imperative declaration synonymously linked to an attitude that might also involve a peremptory, commanding, imperious, authoritative, masterful, lordly, magisterial, autocratic, dictatorial, domineering, overbearing, assertive, firm, insistent, bossy, high-handed, overweening approach to something that wasn't personally enjoyed, appreciated or valued. Something that may have been irritating or incongruent enough to prompt the dismissive statement at the start and the hate further in.
Think.
Come on, think.
THINK I said!
What was your take away in regard to your mother's painted nails and her devotion to getting them done? Did you see them limiting her function or worse yet her marital activity? Did she poke you in the ass with them? How did you know your Dad liked them? Was "nonsense" involved?
Bring it on home baby. And nail it down. All behavior has meaning, including perceptions portrayed with humor and intensity.
I knew it. I knew it! The minute I saw "Being a woman must be really weird," I knew a passionate response was coming from MamaM.
Am I going to say more? No. What kind of a fool do you take ME for?!
Well, Mama, I thought they were absurd.
And I thought that because she told me her own thoughts about nails before her family was grown and departed the house.
When I was a boy she told me the woman on t.v. had long nails because she didn't do any housework. The woman on t.v. was not raising a family. Or else her nails would not be that long.
Wistfully, she envied that lifestyle. She imagined. The leisurely rich.
That was before nails became a narcissistic art form using outlandish materials.
So, Mum's nails were shorter but not actually short. Until her children were grown. Until she reached a point in her life where it can be said that she no longer did any actual work.
Zero work.
My parents had a 1940's style marriage agreement involving division of labor by sex.
Mum took care of the inside of the house and Dad took care of outside and the automobiles, plus electric, plumbing, roofing, painting, etc.
And that held until we kids moved out.
Then the arrangement was broken.
Mum had everything done for her.
And Dad continued with his half of their bargain.
This was an often noted point of conflict between them.
Mum paid for her half of their bargain. Dad continued with his.
She had her nails done for her.
And not just her nails, her hair too.
She wasn't artistic enough to do them herself such as the women shown when you search on YouTube "marlyn monroe nails"
Those women are even more absurd.
Way WAY WAY too much time adorning the self.
Way too much time fussing with hair. Literally hours spend on the self.
Every
Single
Day.
And no, she did not poke me in the butt. She was not my sex partner, you silly goose.
And she didn't poke my dad in his butt either. You know why? They weren't freaks that way.
How do I know?
They TOLD me.
And I know my dad liked my mom going to the hairdresser and manicurist once a week because he told. me.
He liked the ridiculousness of it. He thought it was fun. He thought my mother was fun. They had fun. That was their fun. The Bronco patterns for games, the Holiday patterns. My mother decorated herself, her body, rather, she had somebody else decorate them for her. Her hair as a jack-o-lantern for example. I did not like my mother spending so much time and so much money having herself appear ridiculous, but my dad thought it was fun and he said so.
How do I know?
She asked me to paint the jack-o-lantern face onto her orange colored hair. For Halloween.
I was against doing that. Dad was for it.
My mother said to me, "What use is it having an artistic son if I can't get him to paint a goddamn jack-o-lantern on my head?"
And with argument cogent as that, I broke down and painted it. I painted a goddamn jack-o-lantern onto her orange-colored hair.
I hated myself for doing that to my mother.
She loved it.
She showed it off.
She went out to her VFW, Eagles, and Elks and they both had a blast with it.
To my lasting embarrassment.
Look at this and ask yourself if you imagine this isn't narcissism in the extreme. Ask if this is time and money well spent. I'll say it again. In many ways women are ridiculous, and I offer this as Exhibit A
If a man did this, you would criticize them for being ridiculous. I know that because you already have.
Apparently, in your world male children of seventeen or eighteen years, real children, must be fully grown men and behave as responsible men and never make videos of themselves being silly in college libraries.
While fully grown middle aged women can misinterpret, "here is an album for your wedding" to "Good, an album for my baby"
and
"I worked very hard on your wedding photos for you" to "glad you enjoyed the photos."
And
women of all ages can waste half a day and quite a few dollars adorning their fingernails. For what? To be more intriguing. To compete with other women. To be attractive to ... wait for it ... men.
My father's family was grown, they had time for such things, he had his own interests to indulge, and they had the money for those ridiculous indulgences of self. Himself too. His automobile collecting. Cars that he never intended to drive. HO train sets, thousands of dollars, for systems he had no intention of assembling. And very many more examples.
Then.
That awful day.
The day Mum wrecked her automobile driving to the ... where? .... Hairdresser!
The third such accident that sent my parents insurance skyrocketing.
This one was really bad. Her automobile totaled this time. Ran right into a ditch. She was hospitalized.
I took her driver's license away.
I did.
Dad was not capable of doing that. The other kids were all elsewhere. The responsibility fell to me. Mum could no longer drive.
Perforce, she stopped having her nails done so ridiculously and indulgently.
And she stopped having her hair done, dyed and put up in vintage 1950's fashion, the era in which she was stuck.
She stopped being stuck in a little girl stage of self indulgence. And she began being indulgent outwardly. She took up tipping everybody in sight. She tried tipping the nurses. She tried tipping the grocery clerks. She tried tipping everyone she came into contact, everyone who did something for her. She gave her money away. She donated to causes she never considered before.
Her nails were ordinary human fingernails but still well groomed.
Her hair was her own natural hair. Natural color, natural texture. Natural easy care cut.
And you know what?
She was beautiful.
She completely rocked her new updated age appropriate look. She actually looked decades younger. She looked more alive. She became much MUCH less self-centered.
Having raised a large family under extraordinary conditions, a life of self-sacrifice devoted to others, to me, then a girlish phase, a very long phase of reversion to being a girl, one of self-indulgence that both parents enjoyed, to a phase that recognized the ministering work of others. One that no longer included day long sessions at salons indulging in self adornment.
Were those sincere questions you asked, or merely challenges for the sake of being confrontational?
Did this answer them?
What kind of a fool do you take ME for?!
Someone who appropriately knows how to "put a sock in it", colorful or otherwise!
Those were certainly some good stories and recollections Chip A. Thank you for responding. You can count on sincerity from me. Even if there is a poke involved, I put thought into my responses and questions.
What did I say earlier on the happiness post? Great Suffering and Great Love, alone or together--both are agents of change. It sounds like you had the joy of seeing your mom realize more of her true self after she spent a life-time attending to others, having fun and figuring out who she was and wanted to be.
My mom and dad had a 40's style marriage too, with the same division of labor, and a similar yearning on the part of my mom to have elegant nails, when what she really had was a pair of large (she was 5'11" in stature) and very capable hands. Her hands were my favorite part of her just the way they were, but she yearned for the supposed elegance of painted nails and would do them herself in her later years using pearlized colors that fell short of the look she was seeking. I wear my own nails plain with a wedding band as the only adornment on my hands, and a watch with hands on my wrist, and that works for me. That others have found enjoyment in the hours spent achieving the look presented at the link matters not to me. Who are they hurting or harming?
Before we moved, there was a woman in her early 40's who used to take my payment at the health center each week. She took care to have her nails done special and they were eye-catching. She sat at the same desk every day, wore a bland single color scrub-type uniform, and interacted with a seemingly never-ending stream of patients while attending to their bills. I would notice her nails and offer a compliment on them from time to time, as they looked good and caught my attention. They appeared to be her way of allowing a little creativity and color into her life, and I recognized that desire and applauded it. She was the mother of two school-aged children, she worked at the clinic full time and enjoyed camping with her family on weekends. I experienced her as down to earth, sweet, and for the most part practical with little to no room for other forms of creative expression in her life. She wasn't devoting herself to surprising others with her unusual makeup, or burping, farting or loudly eating a head of lettuce in the library to gain notice and attention.
I also encountered beautifully done nails on the woman who was my cohort partner two years ago. She'd endured multiple joint replacement surgeries with long recoveries due to degenerative disease and had decided to spend time and money getting her nails done as a way of attending to a body that had basically betrayed her and would keep betraying her while holding her soul.
As for criticizing a man who did something similar, have I said anything about devoting life energy to the filling 17 pots for a balcony display?
Apparently, in your world male children of seventeen or eighteen years, real children, must be fully grown men and behave as responsible men and never make videos of themselves being silly in college libraries.
Most of the young men who graduate from high school do so when they are 17-18 years of age, with the ages of those who go on to college to hang out in the libraries there with the intent of studying, preening, hooking up or making nuisances of themselves, falling into the 18-26 year old range.
For as young or immature as they may seem, be, or behave, once young men turn 18 they are by no stretch of the imagination "real children" anymore.
This came in via email today--from American Life in Poetry: Column 737 by TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE. Right on down to their fingertips, mothers create powerful memories.
How many of our mothers set aside what they wanted to do with their lives and chose instead to make good lives for us? This poem is from Faith Shearin's sixth book, Darwin's Daughter, published in 2018 by Stephen F. Austin State University Press. Shearin, of West Virginia, has become one of this column's favorite poets.
My Mother's Van
Even now it idles outside the houses
where we failed to get better at piano lessons,
visits the parking lot of the ballet school
where my sister and I stood awkwardly
at the back. My mother's van was orange
with a door we slid open to reveal
beheaded plastic dragons and bunches
of black, half-eaten bananas; it was where
her sketchbooks tarried among
abandoned coffee cups and
science projects. She meant to go places
in it: camp in its back seat
and cook on its stove while
painting the coast of Nova Scotia,
or capturing the cold beauty of the Blue Ridge
mountains at dawn. Instead, she waited
behind its wheel while we scraped violins,
made digestive sounds
with trumpets, danced badly at recitals
where grandmothers recorded us
with unsteady cameras. Sometimes, now,
I look out a window and believe I see it,
see her, waiting for me beside a curb,
under a tree, and I think I could open the door,
clear off a seat, look at the drawing in her lap,
which she began, but never seemed to finish.
I got a haircut today - the guy who performed that task said it made me look younger - he was angling for a tip.
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