Rebar wire: Not just for tying shit together anymore

[Eater of Clowns]

So awesome.  Rem I would kill a motherfucker for one of these.  Have you considered selling them?

[Remington]

Thanks, Dok.

So awesome.  Rem I would kill a motherfucker for one of these.  Have you considered selling them?

I've considered it, yeah. Maybe once the farmer's market starts up in summer.

If you'd like, though, I could make and send some out for minimal price ($10 plus cost of shipping, perhaps?). PM me if you're interested, I'd be willing to do commissions.

[Doktor Howl]

Thanks, Dok.

So awesome.  Rem I would kill a motherfucker for one of these.  Have you considered selling them?

I've considered it, yeah. Maybe once the farmer's market starts up in summer.

If you'd like, though, I could make and send some out for minimal price ($10 plus cost of shipping, perhaps?). PM me if you're interested, I'd be willing to do commissions.

Sell 'em online.  Charge a bunch.

[Eater of Clowns]

Thanks, Dok.

So awesome.  Rem I would kill a motherfucker for one of these.  Have you considered selling them?

I've considered it, yeah. Maybe once the farmer's market starts up in summer.

If you'd like, though, I could make and send some out for minimal price ($10 plus cost of shipping, perhaps?). PM me if you're interested, I'd be willing to do commissions.

Sell 'em online.  Charge a bunch.

Yeah, this.  Start up an Etsy account or something.  I greatly appreciate the offer for a commission but really if I can afford what you're asking then you're asking too little.

Not that I wouldn't take that price.   

[NotPublished]

They are damn awesome!

Ooo would you make one shaped like a love heart?  

[fogukaup]

damn these are all so much better than the sculpture in my school's art department.  So many people lose their creativity and talent when they get the conceptual rash. 

[Jenne]

That is such a perfect piece of sculpture for Rog, too!

I'd be interested in commissioning one.  Would you consider doing one of a dude with a guitar?

[Remington]

That is such a perfect piece of sculpture for Rog, too!

I'd be interested in commissioning one.  Would you consider doing one of a dude with a guitar?

Sure, I'll get started on Thursday.

Any other details or specifications?

They are damn awesome!

Ooo would you make one shaped like a love heart? 

Thanks!

I'm not quite sure how a heart would work. I could make a 2-d one, but that's almost too simple.

[Jenne]

Nope!  I will leave it up to you about acoustic vs. electric!     Awesomeness!

[Eater of Clowns]

Rebar Man

In the woods of Maine there stands an old farmhouse.  It's near a lake and has long been abandoned.

The windows are shattered.

The shingles are shredded.

The paint and wallpaper are peeling from the walls.

Piles of old garbage and broken furnishings litter the interior.  And on the second floor, up a creaky old set of stairs, there once sat a man made of wire on a plain wooden table gouged and worn from the years.

The wire man knew a family once.  He knew the people who placed him on that table and the man who created him.  He knew the fresh strong feeling of the new rebar wire that made him.

Then one day there was a fire.  His family was away and the farmhouse still stood, but they never returned.

The Rebar Man waited for a long time.  A year went by and nobody came.  People began to explore the old farmhouse.  They were kids who were curious and young adults who were bored.  To many of them the Rebar Man went unnoticed.  Some few picked him up, some fewer spoke slow words he did not know, and all set him back on his table when they left.  These were the greatest moments of his existence.

While he waited, and he always waited, he looked down the hallway to the window outside.  He would see snow and rain, he would see the leaves changing colors and the cars passing by.  But his favorite times were when he saw sunlight.

Time moves slowly for the man made of wire.  One day, five years after the fire, a rock was thrown through the window.  It took him two months to be surprised and to know the glass lay broken.  That was the day he decided to reach the sunlight.

He was made to stand, it would seem, but not to walk.  For one month did he step forward, for one second did he fall, and for some time longer did he realize it.  But the window was closer.

Two years it took the Rebar Man to fall from the table and two months to right himself from his back.  But the window was closer.

Again and again he saw the snow and rain, the leaves changing colors and cars passing by.  Again and again he felt when the air went moist, when something began happening to his wire.  He slowly rusted.  But the window was closer.

Patches of orange-brown flakes were about him after three years.  He was halfway to the window.  A small group of people came to the house and searched its rotting shell.  They stomped on decrepit floor boards and gazed upon fire wrecked fixtures.  They took to the stairs and stood before the window.  They stepped on the Rebar Man's right arm and leg, dragging him a little before realizing it.  They left.  His right side was crushed and moved poorly.  And the window was further away.

Five years passed.  He felt the tremors of visitors cautiously looking about before leaving the old house.  Few came near him, none disturbed him.  He was covered in rust.  But the window was closer.

The rust grew thick.  His movements became slower.  From his hand first touching the light cast from the window til his body rested entirely within it four months passed.  He rolled onto his back with some time and gazed up.  The window was there.  But it rained on him.

The next day he felt little.  He was rusted and bent oddly.  He cracked and broke in places.  But the sun shone that day and he basked in its light.

Then the man made of wire knew no more.

[Richter]

to recent work!

Rebar Man

In the woods of Maine there stands an old farmhouse.  It's near a lake and has long been abandoned.

The windows are shattered.

The shingles are shredded.

The paint and wallpaper are peeling from the walls.

Piles of old garbage and broken furnishings litter the interior.  And on the second floor, up a creaky old set of stairs, there once sat a man made of wire on a plain wooden table gouged and worn from the years.

The wire man knew a family once.  He knew the people who placed him on that table and the man who created him.  He knew the fresh strong feeling of the new rebar wire that made him.

Then one day there was a fire.  His family was away and the farmhouse still stood, but they never returned.

The Rebar Man waited for a long time.  A year went by and nobody came.  People began to explore the old farmhouse.  They were kids who were curious and young adults who were bored.  To many of them the Rebar Man went unnoticed.  Some few picked him up, some fewer spoke slow words he did not know, and all set him back on his table when they left.  These were the greatest moments of his existence.

While he waited, and he always waited, he looked down the hallway to the window outside.  He would see snow and rain, he would see the leaves changing colors and the cars passing by.  But his favorite times were when he saw sunlight.

Time moves slowly for the man made of wire.  One day, five years after the fire, a rock was thrown through the window.  It took him two months to be surprised and to know the glass lay broken.  That was the day he decided to reach the sunlight.

He was made to stand, it would seem, but not to walk.  For one month did he step forward, for one second did he fall, and for some time longer did he realize it.  But the window was closer.

Two years it took the Rebar Man to fall from the table and two months to right himself from his back.  But the window was closer.

Again and again he saw the snow and rain, the leaves changing colors and cars passing by.  Again and again he felt when the air went moist, when something began happening to his wire.  He slowly rusted.  But the window was closer.

Patches of orange-brown flakes were about him after three years.  He was halfway to the window.  A small group of people came to the house and searched its rotting shell.  They stomped on decrepit floor boards and gazed upon fire wrecked fixtures.  They took to the stairs and stood before the window.  They stepped on the Rebar Man's right arm and leg, dragging him a little before realizing it.  They left.  His right side was crushed and moved poorly.  And the window was further away.

Five years passed.  He felt the tremors of visitors cautiously looking about before leaving the old house.  Few came near him, none disturbed him.  He was covered in rust.  But the window was closer.

The rust grew thick.  His movements became slower.  From his hand first touching the light cast from the window til his body rested entirely within it four months passed.  He rolled onto his back with some time and gazed up.  The window was there.  But it rained on him.

The next day he felt little.  He was rusted and bent oddly.  He cracked and broke in places.  But the sun shone that day and he basked in its light.

Then the man made of wire knew no more.

to this too.  Somewhere between Silent Hill imagery wise, and mono no aware.

[Remington]

Rebar Man

In the woods of Maine there stands an old farmhouse.  It's near a lake and has long been abandoned.

The windows are shattered.

The shingles are shredded.

The paint and wallpaper are peeling from the walls.

Piles of old garbage and broken furnishings litter the interior.  And on the second floor, up a creaky old set of stairs, there once sat a man made of wire on a plain wooden table gouged and worn from the years.

The wire man knew a family once.  He knew the people who placed him on that table and the man who created him.  He knew the fresh strong feeling of the new rebar wire that made him.

Then one day there was a fire.  His family was away and the farmhouse still stood, but they never returned.

The Rebar Man waited for a long time.  A year went by and nobody came.  People began to explore the old farmhouse.  They were kids who were curious and young adults who were bored.  To many of them the Rebar Man went unnoticed.  Some few picked him up, some fewer spoke slow words he did not know, and all set him back on his table when they left.  These were the greatest moments of his existence.

While he waited, and he always waited, he looked down the hallway to the window outside.  He would see snow and rain, he would see the leaves changing colors and the cars passing by.  But his favorite times were when he saw sunlight.

Time moves slowly for the man made of wire.  One day, five years after the fire, a rock was thrown through the window.  It took him two months to be surprised and to know the glass lay broken.  That was the day he decided to reach the sunlight.

He was made to stand, it would seem, but not to walk.  For one month did he step forward, for one second did he fall, and for some time longer did he realize it.  But the window was closer.

Two years it took the Rebar Man to fall from the table and two months to right himself from his back.  But the window was closer.

Again and again he saw the snow and rain, the leaves changing colors and cars passing by.  Again and again he felt when the air went moist, when something began happening to his wire.  He slowly rusted.  But the window was closer.

Patches of orange-brown flakes were about him after three years.  He was halfway to the window.  A small group of people came to the house and searched its rotting shell.  They stomped on decrepit floor boards and gazed upon fire wrecked fixtures.  They took to the stairs and stood before the window.  They stepped on the Rebar Man's right arm and leg, dragging him a little before realizing it.  They left.  His right side was crushed and moved poorly.  And the window was further away.

Five years passed.  He felt the tremors of visitors cautiously looking about before leaving the old house.  Few came near him, none disturbed him.  He was covered in rust.  But the window was closer.

The rust grew thick.  His movements became slower.  From his hand first touching the light cast from the window til his body rested entirely within it four months passed.  He rolled onto his back with some time and gazed up.  The window was there.  But it rained on him.

The next day he felt little.  He was rusted and bent oddly.  He cracked and broke in places.  But the sun shone that day and he basked in its light.

Then the man made of wire knew no more.

to this! I love your writing style!

[Jenne]

Wow.  Great work, EoC.  Remmy, you were thinking of stop-motion film of the rebarmen, this would be an awesome screenplay.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Rebar Man

In the woods of Maine there stands an old farmhouse.  It's near a lake and has long been abandoned.

The windows are shattered.

The shingles are shredded.

The paint and wallpaper are peeling from the walls.

Piles of old garbage and broken furnishings litter the interior.  And on the second floor, up a creaky old set of stairs, there once sat a man made of wire on a plain wooden table gouged and worn from the years.

The wire man knew a family once.  He knew the people who placed him on that table and the man who created him.  He knew the fresh strong feeling of the new rebar wire that made him.

Then one day there was a fire.  His family was away and the farmhouse still stood, but they never returned.

The Rebar Man waited for a long time.  A year went by and nobody came.  People began to explore the old farmhouse.  They were kids who were curious and young adults who were bored.  To many of them the Rebar Man went unnoticed.  Some few picked him up, some fewer spoke slow words he did not know, and all set him back on his table when they left.  These were the greatest moments of his existence.

While he waited, and he always waited, he looked down the hallway to the window outside.  He would see snow and rain, he would see the leaves changing colors and the cars passing by.  But his favorite times were when he saw sunlight.

Time moves slowly for the man made of wire.  One day, five years after the fire, a rock was thrown through the window.  It took him two months to be surprised and to know the glass lay broken.  That was the day he decided to reach the sunlight.

He was made to stand, it would seem, but not to walk.  For one month did he step forward, for one second did he fall, and for some time longer did he realize it.  But the window was closer.

Two years it took the Rebar Man to fall from the table and two months to right himself from his back.  But the window was closer.

Again and again he saw the snow and rain, the leaves changing colors and cars passing by.  Again and again he felt when the air went moist, when something began happening to his wire.  He slowly rusted.  But the window was closer.

Patches of orange-brown flakes were about him after three years.  He was halfway to the window.  A small group of people came to the house and searched its rotting shell.  They stomped on decrepit floor boards and gazed upon fire wrecked fixtures.  They took to the stairs and stood before the window.  They stepped on the Rebar Man's right arm and leg, dragging him a little before realizing it.  They left.  His right side was crushed and moved poorly.  And the window was further away.

Five years passed.  He felt the tremors of visitors cautiously looking about before leaving the old house.  Few came near him, none disturbed him.  He was covered in rust.  But the window was closer.

The rust grew thick.  His movements became slower.  From his hand first touching the light cast from the window til his body rested entirely within it four months passed.  He rolled onto his back with some time and gazed up.  The window was there.  But it rained on him.

The next day he felt little.  He was rusted and bent oddly.  He cracked and broke in places.  But the sun shone that day and he basked in its light.

Then the man made of wire knew no more.

That was really beautiful.

[Eater of Clowns]

 

I didn't mean to threadjack Rem, I just got this idea based on his work and I was excited about the prospect of a commission.

Jenne, now that you mention it I can see that as a stop motion short.

I can't really take credit for the imagery, I actually went to that farmhouse when I visited Maine in November.  Fire did hit it and the family pretty much abandoned it (we were staying at the cabin nearby of one of the family members).  I just put Rem's wire man in it.  Then again, maybe it was already there, and maybe I stepped on him and didn't notice.