Self Taught/DIY Artist, Poet, Queer Punk, Zombie Fanatic.|
Dandy Jon was Born 1984, in Deadmonton, Alberta, Canada. Dandy Jon is an Artist, a weird one at that, he works on whatever projects that comes his way, whether it be drawings, paintings, poems, videos, ect.
His artwork has been shared and exposed by The Smashing Pumpkins, author Daniel Allen Cox and has an art piece featured in avant-garde/experimental band Xiu Xiu's 10 Year Anniversary Zine. He also worked on two videos for singer/songwriter Logan Lynn.
His major influences include (Bands, Filmmakers, Writers & Artists): Billy Corgan, David Lynch, Chelsea Wolfe, George Romero, Edward Gorey, Maurice Sendak, Lucio Fulci, Ramones, Daniel Allen Cox, James Dean, Clive Barker, Allen Ginsberg, The Cure, Killing Joke, David Bowie, Xiu Xiu, John Waters, The Raveonettes, Misfits, Logan Lynn, Christian Hansen, Bauhaus, Margaret Cho, Dead Man's Bones, Joy Division, Amanda Palmer, Bella Morte, David Cronenberg, Sharon Needles, Neverending White Lights, Cradle of Filth, Alkaline Trio, Voltaire, ERAAS, Melissa Auf der Maur, Casey Stratton, Jean Cocteau, Marilyn Manson, James O'Barr, My Dying Bride, Brody Dalle, Gary Numan, M83, Neil Gaiman, James Adomian, Crispin Glover, Trent Reznor, Neko Case, Clan of Xymox, RuPaul, Wendy O Williams, American McGee, James Franco, The Damned, Nick Blinko, The Birthday Massacre, William Control, Siouxsie Sioux, Edgar Allan Poe, Todd McFarlane, Behemoth and Rob Zombie.
He can't stand snobby pretentious art elitists.
He also is a Podcast & Stand Up Comedy geek/fanatic.
This is his DA page, so enjoy. Cheers!
Last FM: www.last.fm/user/Dandy-Jon
The Zombie Army (Jon's Online Shop): www.zazzle.ca/zombiearmy
Society6 (Various art prints): society6.com/dandyjon
RedBubble (Various Art Prints): www.redbubble.com/people/dandy…
It takes a lot in me to make the images I create, the artwork always railing against my own downfall, always railing against me in one way or another, some of this can be regarded as scattered thought, misplaced words, some of this can be regarded as poetry, or just self explanatory. Wandering through the hallways of my mind, opening each door, just to see how many more boxes I have yet to unpack, search through, arrange and toss aside. July, as I know it is just too long for me. I am not a person of summer, I was born under a September sky, and July just drags on and on and on. Depression, when optimism fails let me turn to you, come on lets burn out together, one bright spark, ignite, a star once called upon in these images that seep out of me, the artwork made from empathy, sprawled out, all magical thoughts, watercolors and pastel dreams, happiness and sadness, I can never really tell which is which when I feel as lost as this, late night poetry disguised as thoughts, nothing makes all too much sense except for this senseless beat, pounding in my head, pounding like drums, I could shout ONWARD, onward- but its been said before, in another confession, in this concession-stand that is my mind. When these thoughts of depression sing me a song, never out of tune, always ringing in my mind. Thoughts of late night depression and joys, and the tears I just can’t cry- not when there are many dreams to be chased, the tears I just can’t hide in painted memory, painted sympathy. A ghost peering in, the afterlife and afterthought, the people pointing fingers at one another, its a big bright world full of beauty and scars, political nonsense of insecurities, never will they ever get to the best of me, the best is yet to be come, to be, to be found deep inside someone else’s sympathy. I never celebrate the good times, the good times from here on out just seems like a myth, the beauty of life, and the irony has become quite funny to me, as much as I prepare for the bad times, the bad outweighs the good and that is alright, because the good times come and go and memories preserve them like snapshots, photographs for no one to see. Sometimes its the music that guides me, sometimes its lone inspiration, some say, winter can be the cruelest of all seasons, but I think summer is cruelest of all, coldest of all, a slow burn, all those with self righteous vanity, simple handsome smiles, brain-dead beauties with admirers who are just as simpleton as them, I’ve got no time for those who walk a jaded path, empty lives with nothing to prove, and sure, I am no saint but my fight is real, my words are mine alone, its always me with the paintbrush smearing lonely smiles across the canvas. I obsess over the little details that no one else can see, in the end it will always be me against me, me vs. integrity. The summer nights tend to drag on longer than any other nights within any other season. Any other season, summer, I can do without. A ghostly smile, a lonely speech, it takes a lot in me to pour out these words I keep deep inside, but I’ll let them pour, much like rain, on a night like this