I've been SHATTERED (Sha-DO-beh)

Who is that Masked Man? Me! At the Museum of Art Fort Collins. WRITTEN, ILLUSTRATED, & MASKED BY PETER MOORE

WHEN I MOVED TO FORT COLLINS, COLORADO, seven years ago, I was thrilled to find a cool art museum a quarter mile from my front door. I can boulevardier on over to visual culture whenever I feel like it!

This April, at The Museum of Art Fort Collins, the annual mask fundraiser takes over. Artists apply to contribute, and if they are accepted—pick me! pick me!—they receive a blank ceramic mask to get jiggy with.

And for the fifth year in a row, I am a masked man. And each of my creations has found a home, and made some money for the MOAFC.

There was this guy, heading out of the ballpark in a hurry:

And this guy, who helped me (English) channel René Magritte.

My friend Tom had to fight it out, at auction, with the well dressed lady below, who really REALLY wanted my mask of L’Inconnue, the “unknown” dead girl found floating, beatifically, in the Seine, 140 years ago, and went on to become the model for Resusci-Anne, the practice doll for people learning CPR.

And this little Black girl, who made waves, and history, by desegregating her local swimming pool.

Last fall, I started by staring blankly at this ceramic mask. And it stared blankly back at me.

So I hit it with a face-full of Gesso, to prepare for Art to Happen.

Now what?

Here’s what Pablo Picasso thought: “Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.”

In this case, I took that literally.

Each year, as I build my mask, I spend many hours staring into those blank ceramic eyes, asking myself, who is this? At some point, the mask begins to answer back. And this year the response was a little disconcerting, because the mask kept on saying: You’re looking at me, but you’re seeing yourself.

So I went to the hardware store and bought a bunch of mirrors. Back in my studio I double-wrapped them in a paper bag and pounded them with a sledge hammer. That’s good for 10,000 years of bad luck, at the very least.

Then I began building my mask.

Some images you can’t unsee.

A little glue will do ya.

Who’s the fairest of them all?

Needs (broken) glasses, right?

And a frame, to make sure he doesn’t escape.

Just the thing for over the fireplace.

Or maybe in the fireplace, if you can’t tolerate the stare.

Care to own an original Peter Moore? Of course you do! Bids start at $60, and all proceeds go to the Museum of Art Fort Collins.

Or you can become a paid subscriber to this substack, in which case I’ll stuff the proceeds into my pocket.

TODAY’S QUESTION: Which mask scared you the most, on Halloween nights of yore? Answer in the comments, if you dare!