@TwistedCopperForest Forget those twee little dollhouses from your childhood, we're a tiny bit obsessed with the work of a truly twisted genius. Juli Steel is not your average miniaturist. A self-taught assemblage artist from Texas who goes by the alias of @TwistedCopperForest, like us, Juli has
@TwistedCopperForest Forget those twee little dollhouses from your childhood, we're a tiny bit obsessed with the work of a truly twisted genius. Juli Steel is not your average miniaturist. A self-taught assemblage artist from Texas who goes by the alias of @TwistedCopperForest, like us, Juli has
A very strong note of warning, dear Pandas: your safety is of paramount importance. If you plan on exploring any abandoned places, you need to take the necessary precautions and be extremely careful.
Abandoned miniature golf/go-cart fun center.
Library, 2007 The morbid fascination with “ruin porn”—the decrepit or devastated remains of human existence—is hardly a niche interest at this point. People are drawn to the aftermath of destruction or the ravages of time because catastrophe and/or decay is mesmerizing, but many argue that ruin porn is voyeuristic and ghoulish. Well, that’s why we have art, folks—so we can gawk without guilt! For her series, “The City,” photographer Lori Nix hand-builds tiny, exquisitely detailed diorama models of human spaces in a post-apocalyptic world. Nix grew up in disaster-prone Kansas, and a childhood of flooding, tornadoes, and blizzards shaped her catastrophic visions as much as sensationalist cinema. From her site: I am fascinated, maybe even a little obsessed, with the idea of the apocalypse. In addition to my childhood experiences with natural disasters, I also grew up watching 1970s films known as “disaster flicks.” I remember watching Towering Inferno, Earthquake, Planet of the Apes and sitting in awe in the dark. Here was the same type of dangers I had experienced day to day being magnified and played out on the big screen in a typical Hollywood way. The mysterious disaster that’s left Nix’...
