As Surreal As You Let It Be

Kyle Thompson

Death by Party | Kyle Thompson: The Kid Stays In The Picture

What is the drive and proliferation of true art? Conversely, what is considered drivel and the promulgation of such? While neither query will ever yield a stalwart answer, the one definitive is that the creative process isn’t easy. As a writer, my artistic impetus largely consists of the solitary practice of self-perfection and the syncretism of individual-universality. From the Fountainhead to the fountain pen, it’s just how I fucking roll. Much can be said of intrinsic talent, but even more can be said about the sworn fealty to learning as the only tool one ever needs in making something profound. If practice unequivocally makes perfect, Kyle Thompson’s lambent tempuring of the feverishly strange with the strangely familiar is evocative to an almost enlightening level- and his unique vision is only getting better. So it goeth the old saying, “If you meet Buddah on the road, smoke him.”

The fiction behind these inebriating images are as surreal as you, the surveryor want them to be. The reality of the star in front of the Canon60d camera, however, is as sobering as he, the purveyor wants it to be. The resplendent rapscallion is but the tender age of 21- the magical year wherein the word ‘sober’ is permanently extricated from our minds. Let us chase this down with the veracity that the fucking dude has positively zero formal education in photography. He’s merely practiced for three years and continues to so with an ostensible flare for the lens, blurring the conception betwixt background and foreground (literal and metaphysical). The force is strong with this one, and his works lend credulity to the myriad declarations that midi-cholorians do exist.

The very base and utilitarian purpose of snapping a picture is simply to document. Where the Devil’s insidious and beautiful seed resides in are the details. They maybe so clever, the very stark may belie/complement the very subtle and vice versa. The stasis of a moment in time committed to film is nothing to balk at. These particular carbonite captured emotions scream/scry the past, present, and future all in one fell-goddamned-swoop in the stern-torian voice of a James Earl Jones-Morgan Freeman chimera with balls the size of Spaceship Earth. The only thing wrong with that picture… is that Kyle Thompson is not of this world.

 Be sure to check out his site

By Robert Kijowski

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