We were asked to create a canvas for the NABS charity event in which canvasses created by creative people across the country were auctioned off in Scotland. We took the opportunity to do something that reflected our roles as art director and copywriter and decided to submit a copy based and art directed canvas. And what better subject to use than a skip. Below is the copy to go with the above canvas...let us know what you think.
This example has had better days. Losing it’s original colour, with a skin akin to a rotting banana, it flaunts it’s diseased rust worn skin borne from years of corrosion as it has been dragged and battered from city, to town, to city and back.
Squatting purposefully and heavily upon it’s tarmac base. Oblivious to the fire escape it is inconsiderately blocking. An inconvenient, furniture filled, publically loathed monstrosity that is just trying to do it’s job. It does this well, a timeless classic. A cavity for waste with a design that has never changed. An invention to be celebrated.
Lifetimes of hoardings. A grander version of that box of trinkets that you all keep in your loft, knowing you’ll never lay eyes on them again. Laid bare for all to see.
Young children peer over the sides in awe as the latest playground has come to town, doubling up as the biggest toy box known to man, or boy. They play in the surrounding broken glass and gravel car park, pulling out disused cladding that soon become swords with bin lids as shields. The splintered, wooden plinth leading to the den seems dangerously perfect for the BMX bikers in their relentless pursuit of their latest trick.
With reflectors that don’t reflect, it’s no wonder there are layers of multi-coloured car paint at each corner. Flaking ungracefully and enticing vulnerable human hands with it’s sharp metal protruding blemishes. However, this seems to be all the metal in sight as a wannabe scrap man has entrepreneurially raided all metallics inside down to the very last screw and bolt.
Strewn unloved items scattered randomly upon layer upon layer of rotting waste whilst thousands of squirming insects feast on a buffet of bottomless black bin bags, brittle moisture-laden wood panels and those mould infested Petit Filous pots thrown on last week.
Resembling a refuse mountain in it’s over-filled state. This will not be taken away any time soon. A mildew engrained off-white bath takes pride of place in the rear corner of the flowing mess. Almost falling to the floor as it teeters precariously close to the edge. Yet it clings on, with it’s flailing hosing trapped under a pile of condemned house bricks.
The stench of rotting moss water fills the surrounding air whilst dangerous asbestos particles deliver themselves unremorsefully to passers by.
Filling this trapezoidal cauldron are worldwide innovations, inventions, used contraceptions and other things we cannot mention, all thrown to their death. Someone, somewhere could make use of all of this.
Wait…somebody is.
Under the squalid, de-sprung mattress is a man using a roll of unwanted bubble wrap as a duvet with a bag of cement for a pillow.
A skip isn’t just a skip.
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