“Crazy World Ain’t It?” John Van Hamersveld captures the incandescent in American subcultures

“Crazy World Ain’t It?” John Van Hamersveld captures the incandescent in American subcultures

From the “Composer” series

“Crazy World Ain’t It?” John Van Hamersveld captures the incandescent in American subcultures

11 months ago

The “Composer” Series by John Van Hamersveld
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America came home from World War II and missed its period. Ever since, our nation has been swallowing the baby boomers like an anaconda swallows a pig. 

Sometimes I like to think of my parents’ generation as a single child born in 1945, carving its way through our culture like a glacier. As a teenager in the ‘60s, it rebelled, got high and inspired the world. It took risks and danced to disco. It got a job. It worked hard (and did too much coke) before settling down, voting for Reagan and inventing the minivan.

Say what you will about Boomers, but their influence on American culture was something marvelous and uniquely human that, at every juncture, advertisers sought to trap, bottle and sell. Few have succeeded. And perhaps none quite as succinctly as those who employed the Californian artist John Van Hamersveld.

Selling surf

John was born three years before the war ended. The son of an engineer and an artist, at the age of 10 he moved to the hills of the Palos Verdes Peninsula, which jutt out from Los Angeles into the Pacific.

70 years later and he’s since returned to these hills with his wife Alida, to a modern single-story home where SuperRare visited them in October.

“There wasn’t anything there,” John said, pointing out the window toward the rows of homes descending toward the ocean. “I mean, the hills didn’t have houses on them. So we had this huge world out there that we could explore.”

It was the 1950s on the California coast – waves, vastness, opportunity. The forthcoming cultural revolution was yet to break the shore. His neighbors included Phil Becker and Mike Eaton, who would go on to become two of surfing’s most important board designers.

“And by 11 or 12 years old, I was going surfing at the local cove with them,” Van Hamersveld said, traipsing down the garbanzo bean fields carrying .35 cent balsa boards and cutting their teeth against the breaks of Lunada Bay.

In school he focused on art. “I didn’t have anything to do with all the sports and parties and all that,” he said. “So I would just leave on the weekends and go surfing up and down the coast of California.”

Posters pinned in Van Hamersveld’s studio

Surf culture was just coming into its own, emerging as something new, beatnik cool.

“We’d take off down the coast at 2 in the morning, get close to the breaks and just bail into the side of the road,” he said. “Wake up at five and off we’d go.”

Van Hamersveld was enrolled at ArtCenter College of Design when, in 1962, John Severson hired him first as an assistant – and soon after as art director – at Surfer magazine, where he went on to design nine bimonthly issues.

“At the time, the surfing fad was becoming an actual market,” he said.

Nicknamed “The Hammer,” John became a force on the emerging community – board poking from the back window of his 1950s Chevy coupe. In ‘64, surf filmmaker Bruce Brown asked him to design the cover for his upcoming documentary, The Endless Summer. The poster Van Hamersveld created became a phenomenon. It became the tone and symbol of the era. And it took surfing – or at least the idea of surfing, of the beach, of the California freedom – global.

Someone in Hollywood was watching and, in 1967, John was invited to interview at Capitol Records.

“So I take my portfolio, which has the Surfing magazines and it has The Endless Summer in it, over to Capitol,” he said.

Three weeks later, he gets a callback and soon finds himself on the 8th floor, the executive level, standing across from Brown Meggs, famous for signing The Beatles to the label.

“And [Meggs] looks at me in my beatnik attire from art school,” John said, “and he’s in the Yale blue suit and black tie, white shirt, and he says, ‘I’m going to hire you and you can’t turn me down.’”

Selling sound

For Capitol Records, Van Hamersveld designed the cover for The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour and the Beach Boys Wild Honey. He made a name for himself. He pushed back against standards.

“Hey, I can’t sell this,” John says Meggs told him, holding a copy of the design for Magical Mystery Tour with artists’ faces hidden. “Where’s John Lennon?”

During his first year at Capitol, Van Hamersveld founded Pinnacle Rock Concerts, a small production company.

“In the summer of ‘67, I had envisioned creating a ‘happening’ [with Pinnacle],” Van Hamersveld wrote in his book My Art, My Life. “Two business-type USC students came on board to book bands. Soon we began to promote concerts, and in our first year we got a good one – Jimi Hendrix in November, 1967.”

And just like that, everything exploded. The posters he designed for the proceeding Pinnacle rock concerts featuring Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Cream, The Grateful Dead and others, became legendary representations of something underground and magical, whispered and experienced. John was pushing forward a new style of drawing, techniques he invented that are mimicked and replicated through today.

“Pinnacle was a hippie operation doing 45 different rock groups around the world in one year,” he said. “We’d have these big shows, these controversial shows with a big audience: Cream in the Shrine Auditorium, 4,500 people inside the building and 2,500 outside the building trying to get in.”

John was smoking a lot of weed at the time, Stones LPs on the stereo, jetting up to Haight/Ashbury or East to hang with Warhol.

“The Chelsea Hotel was really fun going up and down the elevator,” he said.

The country was alive with something wild, something new, something revolutionary, and John was capturing and promoting it in vibrant, bright images – simple yet mysterious, provoking.

By ‘68, The Brotherhood of Eternal Love, known for their production and distribution of LSD throughout California and beyond, had dug their way into Pinnacle.

“They blended in with the Pinnacle partners,” John wrote in My Art, My Life, “like a veil of smoke under their dubious means of financing.”

“After some time, it became difficult for me to have drugs and druggies around, so I asked my partners to keep all of that at their place,” he wrote. “That, I think, created the separation of our philosophies.”

Crazy world, ain’t it?

Between 1969 and ‘73, Van Hamersveld designed and refined his now iconic, “Crazy world, ain’t it?” image as a t-shirt graphic and button image, which has been shared, repackaged and repurposed around the world. For him, it was symbolic of the moment. It was reflection.

“1970: the end of an era,” he told me. “And this is like a summary image of that: What happened? Because you had to clean up. You had to get rid of all that stuff. You had to get back to work.”

“What happened,” he said, “is that the larger corporations bought up all the interests of the era and then remarketed them. So I went to work remarketing what I’d been through.”

In the ‘70s, Van Hamersveld designed the cover for the Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street. He became an instructor at CalArts and through the ‘80s designed apparel campaigns, and a six-section mural for the 1984 Olympics.

In 1990, he designed the trademark for FatBurger, which had just been purchased by Chris Blackwell of Island Records – capturing a subculture from LA’s Western Boulevard and packaging it to be sent around the world. He made the transition from analog into digital and, with the birth of the internet, his work found new life in prints shipped to homes, galleries and businesses around the world.

Now, today, in 2021, he’s ready for the next era: Non-fungible tokens.

Van Hamersveld began his “Composer” series in 2007, and it is fitting that his first four minted pieces will be sourced from there. Beethoven, Mozart, Lennon, Dylan: these men reflected the culture of their time, as does John. His art is a prism through which something intangible in our cultures, something felt and experienced but not quite understood, is visually articulated.

“All of my work is really a subculture operation,” he said. He captures movements, sentiments, trends, and translates them into a visual language the whole world can understand.

Through his compositions, Van Hamersveld has ridden atop the crest of commercialism, capturing those ephemeral moments when a swell rises through America, and translating it for the world to see before it crashes against the shore and dries out beneath the sun.

15

Luke Whyte

Luke Whyte is SuperRare's Editorial Director.

Feature Articles

Artist Discovery

Rare reports: The 10 heftiest gains on artwork sales over the last two weeks

Rare reports: The 10 heftiest gains on artwork sales over the last two weeks

“The Digital Self”

Rare reports: The 10 heftiest gains on artwork sales over the last two weeks

11 months ago

The ???? moment ???? has ???? come: We’re dusting off the ol’ SuperRare secondary market ledger, cracking a few 48oz vodka-spiked Red Bulls and pulling consecutive all nighters to bring you a list of the juiciest gains and thickest cut margins in our not-so-new series: Rare Reports.

Here are the artwork sales over the last 14 days that resulted in the highest percentage of profit for the previous owner. Primary market sales are excluded, this is just about highlighting collectors who had an early eye for hidden gems that blossomed into classics.

#10: asSORTED FEELings by @vansdesign (^3,440%)

@vansdesign minted “asSORTED FEELings” in late November, 2019 and @tenjed bought it six months later for 0.64 ETH ($151 at the time). 12 days ago, @siddhi took it off his hands for 1.5 ETH ($6,119 at the time).

That’s a Business Class on British Airways-like profit of $5,968 (or 3,440%).

12 days ago @siddhi bought “Hive of Activity” for 1.89 ETH ($7,721 at the time) from @thedruid who won the piece just 3 month prior with a 0.055 ETH ($174 at the time) auction bid.

A $7,647 profit (or 3,790%) in less than 90 days of ownership!

#8: ?(John McAfee) by @robness (^7,810%)

@starrynight dropped 50 ETH ($210,167 clams at the time) 11 days ago to buy @robness‘ “?(John McAfee)” from @maxstealth who purchased the work a year ago for 5 ETH ($2,321 at the time).

The sale resulted in a cholesterol-spiking $207,846 (or 7,810%) in profit.

#7: #2020Art-07 by @robeberle (^9,554%)

Last week @tkvault bought “#2020Art-07” for 0.5 ETH ($2,052 at the time). The artwork was last purchased by @javo for 0.099 ETH ($18 at the time).

The result was a “listening to Whitney Houston on molly” magnitude profit of $2,034 (or 9,554%).

First minted in the distant past of 2019, @normanharman‘s “Isamu Kaneko – Crypto Portrait” was purchased soon after by @lev for 0.42 ETH ($85 at the time) and resold 12 days ago to @rent55 for 3.85 ETH ($15,865 at the time).

Fill car with foam machines and drive to Cabo, thats a $15,780 (or 16,089%) profit!

#5: $$$ NARCISSIST by @missalsimpson (^20,799%)

@missallsimpson‘s “$$$ NARCISSIST” just sold to @labubu for 4.0 ETH ($16,931 at the time) from collector @zanqui8, who purchased the piece in December 2019 for 0.49 ETH ($70).

Better buy bigger cargo shorts, that’s a $16,861 (or 20,799%) profit!

@vincentvandough just bought @carlosmarcialt‘s “Magritte’s Weed Pipe” for 7.55 ETH ($31,889 at the time) from artist @alotta_money, who purchased it 4 days before Christmas in 2019 for 1 ETH ($127 at the time).

That’s a $31,762 (or 21,816%), “handing out full size Snickers on Halloween” level of profit.

@cryptomorgs just purchased “DIGITAL MACHINIST” for 4 ETH ($16,942 at the time) from @sweden2023, who purchased the work for 0.2 ETH ($44 at the time) two years ago.

¡No mames cabroncito, una pinche ganancia de $16,898 (o 33,100%)!

#2: Oilmelon by @robness (^100,615%)

Awww yiss! @starrynight purchased “Oilmelon” for 50 ETH ($206,321 at the time) from @satsmoon 12 days ago, who purchased the piece for 0.75 ETH ($179 at the time) a year yonder.

That’s a “YouTube video of a solider being reunited with his lost dog” profit of $206,142 (or 100,615%)!!

#1: The Digital Self by @osiris (^108,957%)

@designedinaj bought @osiris‘s “The Digital Self” on September 10th, 2019, two days after it was minted, for 0.3 ETH ($53 at the time) and sold it to @billywhistler 10 days ago for 16 ETH ($66,461 at the time).

An “open a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and throw away the lid” level of profit at $66,408 (or 108,957%)!!

15

Luke Whyte

Luke Whyte is SuperRare's Editorial Director.

Feature Articles

Artist Discovery

Introducing Matt Kane’s The Door: The first SuperRare Series

Introducing Matt Kane’s The Door: The first SuperRare Series

Above: “data privacy” by stockcatalog licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Introducing Matt Kane’s The Door: The first SuperRare Series

12 months ago

I remember the first thing CEO John Crain told me about SuperRare:

“It’s basically just a smart contract on the Ethereum blockchain. That’s it. That’s the business.”

In effect, it was true. Since its inception in 2018, over 30,000 artworks have been minted on SuperRare through the rules of a single, 692 line contract written by our team (since twice revised).

SuperRare Primary Network, 1/1 data map visualization by @barabasilab

This week, all of that changes as we release Series.

“With Series, artists can deploy their own custom smart contracts on SuperRare,” said Jonathan Perkins, SuperRare Labs CPO. “We’re giving artists the ability to release unique collections of work that are uniquely named and numbered.”

Artists will now have the option to mint artworks under the shared SuperRare minting contract or under their own brand.

“This gives artists more independence, more individuality, more sovereignty,” Perkins said, “different ways to package their work and more surface area to experiment with.”

Fittingly, the first SuperRare Series – deployed last night and already featuring five artworks under auction – is ‘The Door’, a project from the mind of renowned artist Matt Kane that reflects on his journey as an artist. It is a journey bound to SuperRare, to the door we walked through in deploying our first contract in 2018 and the door Kane opened in joining as an artist.

Walking through The Door

Technically Matt Kane began working on The Door series in June of 2021, but the project has its origins in a door he walked through in 2013.

The Doors, an introduction video by @mattkane

“I had just left Seattle after living there for seven years,” he said. “A long term relationship I’d been in had broken up, which led me to also end things with my web development clients.”

The plan had been to travel slowly through Canada back to Chicago, visiting a close friend on the way before having a “final go”, as he called it, at being a full time artist. A week before his arrival, his friend took her own life.

“I kept wishing I’d left a week sooner or made one more phone call,” he said. “The regret, self-loathing, and grief that loss survivors feel is very real and heavy.”

Unable to paint amid the darkness, Kane fell back on developing the unique software that has come to define his practice. Through custom algorithms and traditional painting techniques, Kane manifests ideas into artworks that feel rooted deeper in human emotion than in 1s and 0s. His paintings are a melding of order, chaos, geometric shapes and delicate color palettes, like a sort of boolean poetry made by a transhuman impressionist.

And yet, in 2014, there wasn’t really a market for it.

“My work is peculiar in that it didn’t really fit into the generative art community. And it didn’t really fit into the painting community,” Kane said. “My work is a bit of a hybrid and so finding an audience, especially within the old social media paradigm, was challenging.”

By the middle of 2017, when the original SuperRare contract was still just an unfinished file on a laptop, he all but ran out of money.

“Then along came CryptoArt,” he said. “I felt embraced by the community, it was like a warm hug. And I increasingly wanted to squeeze back.”

On May 6th of 2019, he minted his first artwork on SuperRare and made the decision to speak at a technology conference.

M87 Black Hole Deconstruction #6@mattkane‘s first NFT on SuperRare

“Between 2014 and 2019, I had barely talked to anybody,” he said. “I was kinda shut down in my life. I had to consciously make the decision: I’m going to bring myself back around people. I’m going to walk through that door.”

What followed was the CryptoArt explosion. Suddenly Kane found himself helping build a market and lead a community. He was speaking on Twitter, at conferences, and on podcasts. He was entertaining collectors, signing contracts with famed auction houses and fielding requests from young artists. Sure, he was finally making money, but as the gears moved faster and faster, the chatter kicked up like dust into a din so dense he feared he could no longer see or hear his creative spirit.

“It became too much,” he said. “The NFT market had become all encompassing. The volume of emails and DMs had made providing some level of human response to each request impossible. The CryptoArt community I had joined was about reaching out – and it had gotten to where I saw more grabby hands than reaching hands.”

Kane was growing close to a breaking point. Something needed to change. That’s when he found The Door.

“The series started with me looking at ‘Exit’ signs, because I felt this great need to exit different facets of my life,” he said.

“My focus had been on the crypto art market, not on programming,” he said. “And if I’m talking with collectors and artists, and having to pay attention to what is going on on Twitter, I’m not focused on my art.”

Such began the journey. Kane started by looking first at Yukio Ota’s famous running man Exit sign and playing with the symbol.

Yukio Ota’s ISO Standard exit sign

“I consciously wanted to work with some sort of structure that was more formal, that was more minimal, to constrain me,” he said.

Top left to right: Door VII, Door XVII, Door LIV and Door XIII

These constraints allowed Kane to focus on experimenting with new color palettes coupled to complex, deep geometric patterns, wrapping their way up and around the chosen templates.

Soon Kane realized he was more interested with the door itself than of exiting it. Perhaps this project wasn’t just about escaping the world in which he’d found himself, but also about reflecting on the paths he’d taken to get to this point.

“After a while the door stopped being about an exit and it became about an entrance,” he said. “It became about the choices I’ve made to get to my present circumstance: I had to cross through all of these doors.”

The artworks themselves, though all constrained by symbols, vary widely in the emotions they convey, in the experiences they represent.

Top left to right: Door XXXVIII, Door XXXIX, Door XLIII and Door LV

Kane traced the journey he’d taken as an artist from Seattle to Chicago and into the Metaverse. Soon, his focus began shifting again, toward the future, to the doors ahead.

“The process of this work is a door in of itself,” he said. It has led him to a new project, birthed from The Door, a project he hopes might be “the masterpiece”.

And therein lies the opportunity provided by Series as a new medium: Its ability to capture all the beauty in an artist’s journey as a whole, like listening to a vinyl record or cassette tape used to be. It’s not just the radio hits but also the deep cuts where the artist experiments, allows themselves to be vulnerable and fills the project with soul.

Honest, raw, beautiful, alive: These are words I’d use to describe The Door, and the paths down which Series will take us.

15

Luke Whyte

Luke Whyte is SuperRare's Editorial Director.

Art

Tech

Curators' Choice

“The Royal Family of Firearms”: See this mind-opening portrait of the Beretta family

“The Royal Family of Firearms”: See this mind-opening portrait of the Beretta family

Digital Divide

“The Royal Family of Firearms”: See this mind-opening portrait of the Beretta family

1 year ago

Imagine that as part of the 1950s MK-ULTRA program, the CIA administered firearms and LSD-laced Kool Aid to a group of cartoon characters and then forced them to perform a transhumanistic interpretative rendition of Disney’s Fantasia. Now imagine said performance was minted on SuperRare, and you’re about as close as I can get to describing Mike La Burt’s latest piece, “Digital Divide – The Beretta Family Portrait 2021”.

At just over two minutes in length and commissioned by the Beretta family themself, the piece begins with the opening credits to a fictional TV show, “The Berettas: The Royal Family of Firearms” displayed on a mid-century wood-framed TV. Suddenly the viewer is sucked into the show’s intro sequence: A supersaturated dimension where bullets explode through rainbows and hearts, golden horses and golden handguns dance afront neon pink lights, and gunfire echoes through a casino floor-like din.

The Beretta family are then introduced – matriarch Umberta, her husband Franco and son Carlos. They strike poses. Their bodies deconstruct. The universe deconstructs. The dimension shifts. Time and space skip. And the viewer tumbles through a recursive, warped and weaponized wonderland.

Digital Divide – The Beretta Family Portrait 2021

“I got excited by this sort of psychedelic Disney vibe,” La Burt said, “and deconstructing it into interdimensional, weird, post-satanic, pop bubble gum fun.”

This piece is about the aesthetic. It is a transformative journey for the senses, and an unexpectedly fitting profile of the most famous family in firearms.

The privately held Italian Beretta company is the oldest active manufacturer of firearm components in the world. Originating as a one-man operation forging gun barrels in the 16th century Italian Alps, Beretta has grown into a global brand – supplier of armies from Napoleon’s to NATO’s – whose parent Beretta Group reported over $750 million of revenue in 2016.

Umberta Gnutti Beretta, wife of 15th-generation Beretta scion and CEO Franco Beretta, is, and always has been, an avid contemporary art collector. Owner of works by David LaChapelle, Tracey Emin and Vanessa Beecroft among others, Beretta approached La Burt with the idea of producing a family portrait, marking her first step into the NFT universe.

“When I was first approached about the commission [Umberta Beretta] didn’t say anything about who she was. Then when we set up our first talk she was there with Carlo, her son, and they dropped the bomb that they were the Berettas,” La Burt said. “And my jaw just dropped like a cartoon.”

La Burt is an American artist and director just home after 12 years in Japan. There is a mysterious, near-unnerving allure to his work. It has this darkwave, surreal aesthetic that toys with ideas of transcendence. “Digital Divide – The Beretta Family Portrait 2021” is no exception.

“I’ve always been into transhumanism and transformation,” La Burt said. “I use a lot of [Adobe] After Effects, but live-action is my baseline. I’ll take a live-action piece and whenever I can turn that normal human into something transhuman – something of this world but not of this world that might exist in a parallel universe – that’s what I get excited about.”

The development process began with footage shot on three Beretta properties: their villa in Russia, the Beretta Museum, and from their home in Milan. La Burt directed the shoots remotely.

“I did about a thousand iterations on each piece,” La Burt said. Slowly working toward the feast of Disney psychedelia and otherworldly transformation the piece would become.

The result is a truly unique piece of transhumanistic art honoring the one family whose business might have done more to push forward transhumanism than any other company in the last five centuries.

15

Luke Whyte

Luke Whyte is SuperRare's Editorial Director.

Feature Articles

Artist Discovery

David Cronenberg on mortality and kissing a silicone corpse in his first short, NFT film

David Cronenberg on mortality and kissing a silicone corpse in his first short, NFT film

The Death of David Cronenberg

David Cronenberg on mortality and kissing a silicone corpse in his first short, NFT film

Whyte Luke
1 year ago

When the life-size prosthetic of David Cronenberg’s corpse first arrived at his Toronto home, the artists that built it covered the decaying body so the neighbors wouldn’t see them unloading it from their trunk. They carried the 5’9” silicone deadweight, which stars alongside the renowned filmmaker in ‘The Death of David Cronenberg,’ up four flights of stairs to his daughter Caitlin’s childhood bedroom, and they tucked it into bed.

And there they left it. Alone, on its back, mouth agape, skin marbling: purple, red, white.

Cronenberg is hailed as one of the more inquisitive and often unsettling directors of the last half century, known for exploring themes of bodily transformation, technology, and infection in films such as Videodrome (1983),  The Fly (1986) and Crash (1996). At 78 years of age, the poignancy of conducting daily life beneath the attic where your bloating corpse lies is far from lost on him. In fact, it was one of the main attractions.

“I left it up there for a couple days and I’d occasionally just go and check it out,” he said. “It had an emotional resonance for me. The obvious thing is [the short film] is a little metaphorical piece about a person embracing his own death. I embrace it, partially, because I have no choice: this is man’s fate.”

He spoke to me from Athens during pre-production for his first feature film in seven years. A seven years in which his wife passed away.

“[She] died in that house, in a bed, and it felt when she died, partly, like I died, and I still feel that,” he said. “That corpse is my wife to me. So it’s not just a frivolous horror film. It is a film about love and the transient aspect of being human.”

The film itself, which David and his daughter Caitlin shot together and tokenized as an NFT on SuperRare, is a minute long. A robed Cronenberg pauses at the foot of his bedded corpse. There is a stillness, an emphasis on natural light and the weight of the matter. He breathes heavily before approaching his decomposing head. And then the ambient hum is punctuated by wet corpse kisses. Spooning follows.

“It’s as if you stumbled upon it on the internet – no music, no credits,” Cronenberg said. “The Cronencam: A couple of cameras stuck in my bedroom.”

The prosthetic was created by Black Spot FX for the fourth season of the SLASHER series produced by Shudder.

“There was a moment [while working on the series], when the special effects people said, we’ve got a surprise for you,” Cronenberg said. “I was introduced to my corpse, and it was terrific.”

Later in 2021, when Caitlin proposed the idea of an NFT project, David thought of the body.

“I have unfinished business with this dead version of me,” he said.

Cronenberg convinced Black Spot FX, also based in Toronto, to loan him the prosthetic and bring it to his house, but he wasn’t immediately sure what the project would involve. So the corpse waited, like a morbid muse, in Caitlin’s childhood bed.

“I think contemplating your own death, whether you are religious or not, is a difficult thing,” Cronenberg said. “It is difficult to experience your mortality. It is an existing creature trying to contemplate nonexistence. A lot of religions are built around trying to avoid that.”

‘The Death of David Cronenberg’ is an opportunity to face-off with existential dread, a chance to address the question, “I’m almost 80, what do I do about that?”, he said.

“I used to say long ago, whenever I kill somebody in one of my movies, I’m really rehearsing my own death, and that became a cliche, but there is truth in it,” he said. “It is part of life to deal with your own death. People know they won’t live forever, and that their parents won’t live forever. You never finish dealing with that. Every decade of your life you have to revisit it specific to where you are.”

And certainly, there is something relatable and universally human about the film and its production: The daughter of a genre-defining horror filmmaker works with her aging father to look life’s only absolute – its only known horror – directly in the face, and then give it a cuddle.

“To be able to actually kiss your [dead self],” Cronenberg said, “There’s no question it’s fantastic. I think everyone should do this. Everyone should have a corpse made by Black Spot FX.”

15

Luke Whyte

Luke Whyte is SuperRare's Editorial Director.

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