This Artist Brings Objects To Life And It’s Amazing


Do you feel a stare when no one’s there? Or go through out your day, unaware The characters around you waiting to be noticed. There is a word for this phenomenon “Pareidolia”. 

Keith Larsen a pareidolia inspired artist and has created this series “The Faces Within Places”. He bring objects to life by illustrating them into characters and writing poems about them.

Keith said “A lot of the time, people don’t see the faces I see in inanimate objects.” So, he decided to illustrate them in a cartoonish way and write little stories about them to bring them to life. You can follow him on Instagram where he post more of his art.

Yorker, your yellow news dispensing gremlin

Did you hear the news? Pull down my ears is how I'm used.
Newspapers are what I dispense.
Be up to date with your current events.
Look at new gizmos and gadgets, clothes and jackets.
Just about anything worth to mention.
You can call me Yorker, your yellow news dispensing gremlin.

Drunk octopus, looking to fight

I’m the drunk octopus looking to fight.
Fear the left hook and the jab of my right.
You’re at an advantage, my eyes are offset
Yet I’ll surely win this one, I’m the safe bet.
Even with six legs behind my back, this’ll be no match
But I can’t leave this wall, I’m stuck, I’m attached.

Bag takin' a drag

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.

Happy hook elephant

Keith Larsen

Can we talk about the elephant in the room?
Or just about anything your mind consumes.
There to help when you need the support
No matter the baggage, no need to abort.
Hooked on assistance, nothings irrelevant
You will always have help, including this happy hook elephant.

Philip and Brotato, best spuds

There, there Philip, no need to be sad.
You have a nice complexion and your pimples aren't bad.
You may not look appealing, but once they're done peeling, they'll forget what they were seeing.
What's on the inside is what counts, you're not a dud.
I'm your brotato, and we'll always be best spuds.

Frankie the furnace

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 furnace, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about burning you.

A yawning morning monkey

A yawning morning monkey, yearning for caffeine.
Senses not so keen, for this waking groggy coffee fiend.
Hoo hoo ha ha, that first cup was great.
That productive primate mode, we all can relate.
Ba da ba ba ba, energy all day long it’s not gonna quit.
Bananas and coffee, breakfast of chimpions, and I’m lovin’ it.

Jan and Fran

Love can open many doors
We're often used to open albacore.
I'm Jan, and this is Fran.
We've been told no, again and again
Many against us, our life is a sin
But in the end, love always wins.


Ursula the magical Ice Queen Owl

Eyes gaze upon you as you slumber
Elegant crown, headboard lumber.
Ruling the cold bed realm, casting arctic spells.
Residing above you, in the room of hotels.
Call room service to order more blankets and towels.
Here, spotted Ursula, the magical Ice Queen Owl.

Next time we meet, please, stare back at me

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.

Larry, the latch beaked bird

Your door remains shut thanks to me.
Twist my body for the hinges to move free.
I'm Larry, the latch beaked bird.
When you tried to be sneaky, my mouth is the click you heard.
My face remains hidden when you do too.
Open your door, to see the bird that never once flew.

I'm tired of cleaning up after you

I'm tired of cleaning up after you.
Whether it's a mess you created, or something destroyed.
My face is the solution, and I'm relatively annoyed.
Sitting in the corner, like I don't even matter.
Until your klutzy self, makes a messy splatter.
I have no more energy, I'm much too wiped
But, I really mustache you, who created the quantum theory of light?

Dandy dapper dampener.

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.

A parking meter tortoise

Slow and steady wins the race.
That's not the case when it comes to this face.
Tracking your time, waiting for it to expire
The shell on my back being a parked cars tire.
Your times running out, telling you is my purpose
This is my role, as a parking meter tortoise.

The witch doctor

Ting tang walla walla bing bang.
You'll be healed by these words I sang.
I'm a rusted rake, a trusted fake.
Hiding behind my mask as you take the medicine I make.
I collect all that is natural, dried leaves and all.
Homeopathy is the term, if I recall.
My tines are feathers, oxidized from the weather.
Come to me, the witch doctor, so you can feel healthy and better.

Dryer duck just for a buck

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.

Short stack Stanley

Short stack Stanley is sweet as can be.
His tummy filled with liquid, and it’s not sugar-free.
Thick like molasses, you may pull back his nose until it passes.
Smiling, staring, as you eat your pancakes.
Stanley’s syrup is for you to partake.

Ripe, Teeth rotten

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

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