Have you ever had a strange feeling when you’ve often looked at inanimate objects, such as a three-prong outlet or a sock with holes in all the right places, and think they look like a face?
Musician and artist Keith Larsen is able not only to see different faces in inanimate objects but also illustrate them. He has an ability to find objects with faces is the result of pareidolia. It’s a psychological phenomenon in which our minds create a “familiar pattern” where none exists. This is commonly rooted in seeing phantom people or animals, but it can be audible, too. If you’ve ever heard someone claiming they hear a “hidden message” when they play back a song, they’re describing pareidolia.
For Larsen, this phenomenon is the inspiration for his art, and it provides ample fodder to come up with some amusing and fantastical cartoon-style creations.
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 furnce, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about burning you.
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.
Hey dere, you notice my teef missin'. But I'm just like you, I talk and listen. My inner's calm, yet I'm lookin' crazy. Push my teef when you're feelin' lazy.
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.
I'm just a bag takin' a drag. Greaser hair, pull string flair. I'm not full of myself as I may look, I'm filled with your belongings, like pencils and books. Give me a chance doll face, I'm not a cheater. We'll hold hands at the drive-in theater.
I'm a dandy dapper dampener. Fires tickle my fancy, those are no match for me. Remove my monocle you must, for the water to flee. When it comes to parking, I know I'm a nuisance But when your dog pees, I'm somehow translucent. I'm a damn dampened hydrant.
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!All images and captions © Keith Larsen
