I have always wanted to decorate my small bathroom with those Scary Clown paintings that are, by law, required to be sold at every garage sale in the US.
I bet I could get a new painting of Pure Evil every week for a buck or less. Completely framed. Clown Art oxymoron! I grew up with and does not phase me one bit.
My husband, the Prime Minister of the Anti-Fun Brigade, has pooh-poohed this decorating idea.
So, I’ve been struck with the brilliance just now of finding the most hideously freaky clown art and attach it to the 100+ year old oak tree that is in the front of our house on the easement, facing the road.
I have no idea why I actually want to do this, but it makes me giggle at the thought of the " WTF is a clown portrait doing on that oak tree?" as people zoom down our country lane.
The new game show The Power of 10 provides fascinating sociological insights into America’s psyche…(really)…and asked “what percentage of America is afraid of clowns?”
I met an artist several years ago, at the Palette & Chisel in Chicago, whose specialty was painting clowns. I cannot for the life of me find him online, maybe he moved on to something else. But he was selling his work in New York and showed me some – they were mean, mean clowns running around with billy clubs, committing acts of violence. Evil little faces (but very well done).
I remember thinking that my clown-phobic friends’ fear was perhaps quite justified.
[QUOTE=MrDibble]
This is only true because Loonette is a bad clown. A very bad clown who must be spanked. Oh yes!
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…I’ll be in my sister’s video collection.
[QUOTE=gwendee]
Save yourself! I don’t have any problem with clowns, but the one linked in the OP will haunt me for a while. Ay yi yi!
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Nah, it’s not half as scary as the Burger King.
I collect scary vintage toys and clowns. I’m a bit picky; deliberately scary clowns, like with pointy teeth, don’t do anything for me. But a poorly-designed clown doll from the 30s whose face is peeling and flaking off? Perfect.
I’m saving them for the guest bedroom when we move to a larger house. That way, people won’t stay for tediously over-long visits.
The very last time I ever walked in the door at a strip-club (to price renting the hall for my brother’s batchelor party), there was a clown in full makeup drinking heavily, performing magic tricks for the girls dancing on stage, and stuffing singles down their G-strings with clown-gloved hands.
I have never been back to a strip-club since (nor have I felt comfortable around a clown since).