Intro by Natalia Lehaf
Do you remember being a child looking up at the sky and finding shapes in the clouds? I remember pointing out ice cream cones, boats, trees, and various faces. When I look up at the sky now, all I see are clouds.
Keith Larsen still sees shapes. He sees faces. And not just in the clouds, but in everything. He looks at a furnace and finds a disgruntled man named Frankie; in the soap dispenser, a germaphobic Susie who encourages everyone to clean themselves.
Keith says finding these patterns is a “high for [his] brain,” and something he’s always done because he enjoys living in his own world. Ironically, his imagination is introducing him to more worlds—specifically people from all over the world. “With social media, it’s that much easier to build a community, and while it’s always great to have your art appreciated, it makes it that much more special when your work resonates with someone on the other side of the world.” He’s excited to share his work with more people (many more people, with the help of Reddit, Imgur, BoredPanda, and more) and see it make an impression.
While he's working on a coffee table book of these illustrations, you can check out a snippet of his work below.
Not everyone knows what my nose holds. My eyes stay forward minding my own business as you conduct yours. I am a conductor myself being metal and all, you lock the door as your pants fall. I hold your jacket, or whatever you pack, yet I get no recognition as you carry out your mission. You flush and rush as if you have somewhere to be. Next time we meet, please stare back at me.
Grab my beak if it’s laundry you seek. You barely see me, maybe once a week. How can I not have this disappointed look? I dry your clothes as you read a book. I’m dryer duck, and for a buck, I dry the shirts you tuck. Handle my bill if you will, tweak left for your garments. I’ll see you next week, but please, no more vomit.
Yeah, I’m Frankie the furnace, who’s askin’? Short arms with anger fueled by fire, a bowler hat is my only attire. Burning wood is what I do. For cookin’ stew or warming you. But don’t feed me too much I’m warning you. I’m an earnest furnace, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about burning you.
GAHAYUCK! Hi there! I have some stuff to share! It’s ice and water, and I suggest in that order. If it’s the latter first, by all means quench your thirst! But let it be known, YAHUH! You’re in the splash zone. My uneven teeth dispense your desires, push my eyes is what I require!
You’re in the bathroom at the urinal urine spilling. A sloth in transit with its oxygen filling. Arms resting in place, smile on its face, slowly but surely, it’s no race. Happy you’re there, the sloth happily stares. As you finish and flush, to the cosmos, no rush.
Hi there! I’m Sharron, the stall wall door. I hope the soap on my face stalls you from leaving this place. My look of surprise caused by the amount of hands not using my cleaning supplies. So, come hither and let me sanitize your mitts, then dry your hands after you rinse.
I’m ripe. Teeth rotten. My other half, forgotten. This crescent face is only recent. But not to panic, by botanic rules my seeds will sprout. More tomatoes to creep you out. Though there will be none like me, I’m one of a kind, you won’t find me in a bottle of Heinz.