The Aftermath

Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-chocked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.

Sylvia Plath, The Aftermath.

Beyond dioramas, something I always liked and never did, there's the intricate world of Thomas Doyle . Sculpted in 1:43 scale and smaller, his scenes are all about apparently ordinary stories, quite moments where something went weird or where something strange is about to happen.




In his own words:

"I am interested in beauty, absurdity, chance, and contradictions, all of which make their way into my work in some form or another."

The whole construction is often sealed in glass - bubbled, trapped, no escape - like everything you see is happening in a fragile dream. Something that remind me a lot of Martin-Munoz amazing snowglobes.




You can read a nice interview of Thomas Doyle here .