The John Osterman Project: Art Stories
Unveiling Cosmic Wonders: The Enigmatic World of John Osterman
“The John Osterman Project” offers a glimpse into the enigmatic realm of a mythical space creature. Through mixed media sculptures and stash jars, the collection brings to life the mysterious figure known as John Osterman, whose brain-like head and tentacles captivate the imagination.
Transitioning from Myth to Reality: Artistic Interpretations
In this collection, artists seamlessly blend reality with myth, crafting unique interpretations of John Osterman. Transitioning between mediums, each sculpture and stash jar offers a new perspective on the cosmic entity, inviting viewers to delve into the depths of imagination.
Crafting Intriguing Narratives: Exploring the Unknown
Artists delve into the unknown, crafting intricate narratives around the mythical figure of John Osterman. Through art, they invite viewers to explore the mysteries of the cosmos, encountering strange and wondrous creatures along the way.
Inviting Curiosity: Discovering Hidden Realms
Viewers are drawn into the captivating world of “The John Osterman Project,” where curiosity reigns supreme. Through sculptures and stash jars, they uncover hidden realms and encounter the fantastical beings that inhabit them.
Elevating Mythical Beings: Art as a Portal to Imagination
“The John Osterman Project” elevates mythical beings to new heights, using art as a portal to the boundless realms of imagination. Through mixed media sculptures and stash jars, the collection celebrates the enduring allure of fantastical creatures in the world of art.
My Story
By Robert Bernhardt
John Osterman is a young-old, more so middle-aged, man in a mottled white laboratory robe. He lives on the outskirts of Kenneth City only a hop-skip away from a dairy farm. He must wake at six every weekday morning when the sun just barely grazes the horizon to make it on time to the morgue where he wastes time working.
A long day for John Osterman
After a twelve-hour day, John nestles close to the 2010s flat television at his dining table in the dead of night, crinkling aluminum foil TV dinner tray as his only company for ten odd years now. His favorite hobby is guessing wrong at Jeopardy, has been for longer than he can remember. But he loves dolls the most. The old kind that fills his closet with their pearly baby cheeks, frilly pastel ballroom dresses, and their beady eyes too large for their face. Beady shiny eyes that stare into nothing at all.
Quiet Quitting
Some days, when John clocks in, his head clocks out. The day goes by and his vision swims among daydreams, never really seeing what was in front. People pass on by, his and other voices call out, but the grueling monotony makes his eyes glass over. It’s as if his body moves with a will of its own, his stream of thoughts constrained in a porcelain plated prison. A puppet with too many strings to count. He felt as if he were his dolls: hollow and empty, a shell of functions containing nothing really, not at all.
John locks his home door behind him once upon a day and felt that familiar dread for the coming morning. To soothe his soul, he cracks open his microwave to nuke the same crinkling food tray. While the food was baked in warming rays, John strode over to appreciate his precious closet brimming with classic doll designs. But the display had a gaping hole, an empty slot. There was something missing. Something taken.
Grief
He returned to work the next morning, mourning his lost companion all the while. The great misty monotony was now crisp and clear as a bloodied red apple. John was short tempered and fiery; his aggravated words kept his coworkers at bay. Today, nothing was to help his hot-blooded attitude for the dismay he felt at his lost relic. He was empty. A jar to be filled with nothing but writhing dark worms.
The doll never turned up and never appeared. Her face haunted his every nightmare. The loss stole the endless miasma that was his life. He dreamt of hollowness, of emptiness, of the bliss of nothingness. He yearned in daydream of being hollow as his dolls, with his eyes glassed over once again. But he was not, he was human, and would never be filled with the nothing he sought. If he was to fill that slot the way he wants, to perfect his closet, he would need to fill its hole with something hollow. Perhaps a doll? Or mayhap a jar?
A Solution?
Then, like lightning, his flash of genius. He was to fill the hole in his heart with himself, to be the hollow jar missing from the wide wall of his favorite dolls. So he set to work, glassing over his eyes and stripping away the unnecessary. He became what he loved.
In drowning in his work, in becoming the jar he loved, he realized the truth of the world. There was no stolen doll, there was no taken relic. The monotony had tricked him. He was his own treasure, to be found only by drowning in his passion. He yearned not for nothing, but instead for change. To embody what he loved, however strange it may be.
In your hands is the mind of John Osterman, middle-aged morgue worker in the shape of a jar. John’s glassy eyes hold nothing and stare afar. His body has molten and become one with the tendrils of thought. His body is hollow as a doll, waiting desperately to be filled with something, or perhaps, nothing. Is an empty life worth living if wanted, or would you prefer the unwanted visceral something outside?
