Eight Tentacles Means Great Tentacles
07.29.06 By Collin David
Somehow, over the past decade or so, cephalopods have slowly but surely plodded over and engulfed my life. While my preoccupation with them is both more casual and scientific than, say, my preoccupation with Green Arrow, it’s still one of those driving forces that pilots me from one suction-cupped appendage to another.
I’m not sure where it started, though it just may trace its origins back to a can of Wel-Pac California squid that I’d found for not much more than a dollar at a strange Asian market in my college town. I’m not one to pass up anything for a dollar, so I brought it home, and it’s served as both companion and mascot for the past 5 years. Its creepy red label and unappetizingly rendered whole squid are reminders that… well, reminders that there are whole squid trapped within the can.
But I must correct myself. I think that the origins of my cephalophelia find themselves rooted in my frequent excursions to Japanese restaurants with my first girlfriend, back in high school. So charmed was I with the baby octopus that we’d been served that I took it home with me in a small cup and preserved it in the freezer, completely fascinated by its biology and forcing it to star in any number of lurid, naked octopus photographs.
As a result, a plethora of jiggly, eight-legged creatures find their way into my paintings and drawings, and I find myself inexorably drawn to nearly all things octoped, from rubber toys to lamps to clothing, and all of those little trinkets that friends give me when they immediately synonymize ‘octopus’ with ‘Collin and what’s wrong with him’.
The urban vinyl world skirts my obsession, giving my a fair number of anthropomorphic squid to display around my room. I’ve unconsciously collected a fair number of Doctor Octopus action figures, even if he’s a relatively poor excuse for an octopus-man and shares almost no unique attributes with a true octopus, like ink jets and the innate ability to lay down a funky dance groove.
I went on a date with an aspiring mime once, and we decided to go to the Museum of Natural History in New York City. The best part of the date was the enormous squid vs. whale diorama that was darkly hidden under the stairs, donated (as the placard read) ‘for the delight of the children’. My mime-date and I never saw each other again, and the war-torn, plastic whale probably had more charm anyhow. Mimes aren’t known for their conversational skills.
This love of cephalopods also led to an attraction to the writings of H. P. Lovecraft and his abject terror and disgust with all creatures aquatic, most prominently displayed in his creation of Cthulhu, the tentacle-faced elder god monster. While there are a fair number of dedicated Lovecraft vendors located throughout the internet and comic conventions, there’s no such reliable source for all things octopus. One is forced to accumulate items through unusual tag sale discoveries and random encounters, which is usually the most exciting and absorbing way to collect things anyhow.
Gifts of tiny glass octopi and the odd trinket comprise most of a relatively small, unfocussed collection that has formed more of a ‘lifestyle choice’ than a ‘hobby’. It’s hard to keep certain specimens of your collection around when they’re so damned delicious.
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Article Tags: anthropomorphic, cephalopods, Cthulu, H.P. Lovecraft, octopi, squid================
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