Dribbler (Entity Effigies Series?)

I’m not sure if this piece, which I’m calling ‘Dribbler’ (for obvious reasons), fits into my new Entity Effigies series. It has some connections to the pieces from that series but it also has a lot of similarities to my ‘Frankenstein’s Log’ sculpture and to my series of orifice sculptures.

'Dribbler', 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

'Dribbler' (3 details), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

At first viewing it might not be obvious but it probably has a lot more in common with my first ever orifice sculpture, simply titled ‘Orifice’, which I made back in 2002. ‘Orifice’ is a tall, thin, wall-mounted sculpture that looks like a white box with a pink carved orifice jutting out from the top section. The reason for this elongated shape is that my original idea for the sculpture was to have a dribble of resin pouring from the orifice (as is the case with ‘Dribble’) and travelling down almost the full length of the sculpture. In the end I decided that this looked too obvious and instead let the sculpture’s proportions suggest the possibility of the dribble, even if I was the only one who saw the suggestion.

Blind Cyclops Screaming (Entity Effigies Series)

Here’s another piece from what I’m calling my Entity Effigies, a new series of small semi/barely-figurative pieces that I’ve been constructing (with as little intervention on my part as possible) from organic found materials, and mounting them on brass rods that are slotted into locally sourced flat-bottomed stones. Fortunately, I have a few old quarries near my studio. Rather than being actual sculptures I’m considering them more as contemplation pieces, as inspiration for potential future drawings and paintings.

Blind Cyclops Screaming (Entity Effigies Series), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

As you can see from the photos, the head of this effigy is made from an old piece of bone – the socket section from a ball and socket joint. From certain angles the socket reminds me of an open mouth, screaming, but from others it reminds me of an eyeless eye socket, so I’ve given this one the title ‘Blind Cyclops Screaming’.

Blind Cyclops Screaming (3 views), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

The two-horned sections of the piece remind me of something that I can’t quite put my finger on – maybe an obscure deity or possibly a dark god from a movie or comic book. Either way, I like how there are just enough elements in this cobbling together of materials to allow for the mind to fill in the blanks and see an entity of sorts.

Blind Cyclops Screaming (Entity Effigies Series), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

Nokuroka (Entity Effigies Series)

As I previously mentioned, I’m currently working on a new series of small semi/barely-figurative pieces that I’ve been constructing (with as little intervention on my part as possible) from organic found materials. I’m calling this series my Entity Effigies. Rather than being actual sculptures I’m considering them more as contemplation pieces, as inspiration for potential further artworks.

'Nokuroka' (from Entity Effigy Series), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

I’ve titled this one ‘Nokuroka’, a bastardisation of the Japanese word ‘Nokurokubi’, a mythical female creature with an ever-elongatable neck, coupled with the ancient Egyptian word ‘Ka’, meaning ‘double’ or ‘vital essence’. I chose to mash these two elements together because, to me, the effigy I’d created looked like it might represent some form of disembodied wandering spirit with amorphous qualities.

'Nokuroka' detail (from Entity Effigy Series), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

In Japanese folklore, the Nokurokubi is one of the most distinctive forms of Yokai, a class of supernatural entities or spirits. Usually, it is a cursed woman whose neck elongates to impossible lengths while she sleeps, allowing her head to go exploring during the night, often terrifying people as she peers through windows and such like. Tragically, a Nokurokubi is often unaware of what it truly is.

'Nokuroka' 3 views (from Entity Effigy Series), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

As for the incorporation of the Egyptian word ‘Ka’ into my entity’s name - that came from another form of disembodied wandering that the sculpture’s ethereal form brought to mind, namely astral projection; the spirit’s supposed ability to disengage from the physical body and travel. Ancient Egyptian teachings present the soul (ba) as having the ability to hover outside the physical body via the ka, or subtle body.

 

'Nokuroka' (from Entity Effigy Series), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

One of the many things I love about art, and possibly sculpture in particular, is that artworks are often inspired or triggered by a multitude of seemingly unconnected or opposing ideas. There can be multiple readings of a work and ultimately, the viewer’s readings are just as valid as the artist’s, for the artist isn’t always fully aware of what they are creating until partway through the process or even after the act of creation.

Skinny Hollow Dog (Entity Effigies Series)

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve recently started work on a new series of small semi/barely-figurative pieces that I’ve been constructing from organic found materials and utilising their inherent forms with the bare minimum of intervention on my part. 

'Skinny Hollow Dog Effigy' (3 views), 2025, artist Wayne Chisnall

I’m calling this series my Entity Effigies. Rather than being actual sculptures I’m considering them more as contemplation pieces, as inspiration for potential further works (drawings and paintings). Although, saying that, I think that once I have enough of them, as a cluster they will probably be able to hold their own artistically.

'Wide-Mouther Hollow Dog', oil on board, artist Wayne Chisnall

It was only after I’d finished this three-legged effigy that it occurred to me that it somewhat resembled a Hollow Dog, the name I gave to the series of characters that emerged during the ‘100 oil paintings in 12 months challenge’ I set myself a couple of years ago. During this self-imposed challenge I started almost every one of these small paintings/oil sketches by putting brush to board with little or no preconceived idea of what I was about to paint. And it was during these painting sessions that I noticed these hooded or wide-mouthed creatures materialise. It’s fascinating what the hand and mind can produce when you’re in the zone and not paying too much directed attention.

'Hollow Dog Warrior', oil on board, artist Wayne Chisnall

It reminds me of an exercise I used to do every night just as I went to bed. I would force myself to do 10 drawings before I was allowed to go to sleep. They would be very fast, scribbly sketches, especially if I was very tired, and I once I’d done them I wouldn’t look at any of them until some time had passed. But when I did go through them, days or weeks later, even though many of them wouldn’t be great, there would be some that jumped out at me. A few of these inspired future works, and even though they came from my own head, many of them I had no idea what they were about or meant. But as the late great David Lynch once said, “I don’t know why people expect art to make sense. They accept the fact that life doesn’t make sense”.

'Hollow Dog Howling', oil on board, artist Wayne Chisnall

Habonde (Entity Effigy Series)

I’ve always been fascinated with the strange and unusual forms that nature throws up. This is especially true when it comes to vines, roots and branches etc.; materials that I’ve collected for years and which I’ve often incorporated in my work. Similar to the way I created some of my earlier minimal intervention sculptures (basically, just found materials where I’ve done the bare minimum required to change them into something vaguely approaching art), I’ve started work on a new series of small semi/barely-figurative pieces that I’m calling my Entity Effigies. Rather than being actual sculptures I’m considering them more as contemplation pieces, as inspiration for potential further works (drawings and paintings).

‘Habonde’ (detail), from 'Entity' effigy series, 2025, artist - Wayne Chisnall

This one, I’ve named ‘Habonde’, after the Medieval European folklore figure Dame Habonde (derived from the earlier Roman goddess Abundantia), a beneficent fairy or benevolent spirit who brings good fortune to the homes she visits at night. The crown-like structure at the ‘head’ of the effigy, and it’s overall hedgerow aesthetic, brought to my mind the idea of a fairy queen, the obvious candidate being Queen Mab from Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’sDream’. Some believe that Shakespeare’s Mab was derivative of the folklore character of Dame Habonde and the reason I chose the name Habonde over Mab (‘Mab’ probably being a much cooler name for the piece) is that I preferred the Habonde stage in the evolution of this entity’s mythos. While the Roman Abundantia was a personification of the concept of abundance, she thrived more in her folkloric form in Roman Gaul and Medieval France as Dame Habonde or Domina Adundia (Latin for ‘Mistress Adundance’), where she was described as a ‘white-clad’ lady who, accompanied by other ‘night ladies’ or ‘dominae’, would enter people’s homes at night. Although seen as a figure of blessing and good fortune, the Christian Church (ever intolerant of earlier or native belief systems) took a dimmer view, associating such beliefs with witchcraft.

‘Habonde’ (detail), from 'Entity' effigy series, 2025, artist - Wayne Chisnall

But getting back to the actual physical effigy itself, the display mechanism that I came up for it is a stand made from a brass rod and a rock base. First I sanded the bottom of the rock to give it a flat even surface and then I drilled a hole into the top for the rod could slot into. I like how this worked with the effigy itself; the materials complimenting one another. I feel that the stand both grounds the piece whilst allowed it hover almost ethereally.

‘Habonde’, from 'Entity' effigy series, 2025, artist - Wayne Chisnall

Interestingly, I only noticed whilst sanding and polishing the bottom of the rock that it was mostly made up of fossils. Maybe this is why I picked up the rock in the first place, from wherever I originally found it (maybe one of the local old quarries or possibly from a trip to the beach). Until now, it had just been knocking around my workshop amongst all the boxes of interesting finds.

National Mesmeric (Occult TV – after Test Card F)

Started (and almost completed) in 2018, ‘National Mesmeric’ had until now sat in my studio, largely ignored. Shortly after starting the piece, I began to experiment with a more fluid approach to oil painting and it then became my intention to eventually revisit ‘National Mesmeric’ and drastically rework it. But after recent re-examination of it, I’ve come to appreciate it as an exemplar of the body of work that I was producing at the time and thus went back to my original idea for the finishing touches needed to realise it.

‘National Mesmeric’, 2018-2025, 1.5 m x 1.2 m, oil painting, inspired by BBC’s Test Card F’ 

One of the most potent and strangely hypnotic symbols from the days of analogue TV in the UK has to be the BBC’s ‘Test Card F’ that was used from 1967 until the late 90s. As well as being a colour calibration tool, the test card was also used as a visual place holder, back in the days when there were large chunks of daytime in which no programs were scheduled, and no programs aired during the night.

Wayne Chisnall, artist in studio in 2018

As I’m sure is the case with many millions of other British viewers, I remember a childhood in which I spent what felt like hours at a time, staring at the static image of the test card, waiting for a favourite TV program to start. And it’s this idea of a collective mesmerisation that inspired me to create this painting. I thought about all the separate minds viewing the same uncanny image at the same exact time; something that was only possible in the pre-digital, pre-watch-on-demand days of analogue TV. I wondered what strange and dark influence this image had on a nation, collectively waiting impatiently. And I wondered if, like me, others saw things in the test card that weren’t really there. My version of the test card is grossly exaggerated, but as a child I did see the toy clown’s body as a skull-like green mask. 

'National Mesmeric' (detail)

It was only after posting a work-in-progress photo of National Mesmeric online that I received feedback from others who also saw the skull. I’ve since heard other people’s experiences and family stories relating to Test Card F.  One such story is of a friend’s father who used to tell him and his brothers, when they were little, that the girl in image would occasionally blink. Every now and then the dad would point at the TV and shout ‘there, you just missed it’. Even today I think the test card holds a strange power over people of a certain generation.

On The Origin Of Risk

Nowadays, I’m primarily known as a contemporary/fine artist, but one of my fondest memories of any of my art-related activities is still that of the first time I ever saw my work in print. It way back in the late 80s, when I walked into my local newsagent and picked up a copy of the first national magazine I ever illustrated for. And to this day I still get a kick out of seeing any of my work appear in books or magazines (be it my sculptures, paintings or illustrations). So I was delighted when the author Adam Timlett (who I was previously aware of through a SciArt collaboration he has with a friend of mine, the artist James White) approached me about illustrating the cover for his upcoming book (now out in hardback and as a Kindle option).

Adam and I met in a little café in West London in October last year (during my annual pilgrimage to the insanity that is Frieze Week) to discuss the book and what sort of images might work well for the cover illustration. I was fascinated by everything he told me about his research. Well, the bits that didn’t go completely over my head, that is. We threw around a few ideas and I scribbled down a load of thumbnail sketches to act as personal visual prompts for later. We came up with lots of interesting ideas for potential cover designs but the main gist of them all was that the image had to convey elements of risk, and biology or evolution, and possibly, but not necessarily, AI. 

You can see a couple of my preliminary sketches here in this post, but not wanting to bore you with all of them I’d like to focus on what led up to the final design. The finished product was put together by the cover designer, Nicola Nahum, who took my digital drawings/redesigning of a queen playing card (the queen bee representing nature/biology and the playing card representing risk) and created this beautifully and minimally laid out cover design.

 

To do the contents of the book justice, I’ve pretty much lifted the following description of what it’s about from the back cover. On the Origin of Risk (subtitle: What organisations, AI researchers & even physicists need to learn from cutting-edge biology, and why) presents a new way of understanding the deep biases we have in the business and scientific communities in our theories of risk and the core concepts we use to manage risk, especially as organisations.

It presents the evidence and argument from cutting-edge biology that risk is managed differently in organisms in Nature, and that we must learn from Nature in order to develop new theories and lead our mathematics of risk in new directions.

It argues that new biology shakes the fundamental assumptions of both the scientific and business communities.

The final half of the book sketches out what these new directions look like. It presents the beginning of a new way to look at problems of risk, including a technical appendix that adds detail on the new mathematics of risk which leverages our latest empirical knowledge of biological systems and original research by the author.

 

If you’d like to order a copy you can click here for a hardback version and here for a Kindle version.