Have you seen a mobile like this before? Just look up!

I've been taking pictures of these mobiles for months, trying to find their creator. Jasmyne Keimig

Perchance you've seen them on your walk to work or late at dark afterwards having drinks with friends. Your eyes unglue themselves from your bright telephone screen and y'all see it. Dangling, twisting in the breeze, a sculpted brute made of wood, CD shards, vivid pigment, and wire, hanging from the telephone pole in a higher place the sidewalk. Peradventure yous're scared the things will autumn down and stab you. Or curious. Now accepted to looking upwardly, you'll observe these wooden creatures are all over the urban center—Capitol Hill, West Seattle, Columbia City, the Central District, Rainier Beach. In that location are fifty-fifty some in Portland and Los Angeles. Those mobile-sculptures are the effect of one person (with the help of some friends).

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Seattle, meet SEA Dragons.

Some have bicycles on them.

Some have bicycle wheels on them. JK

Bounding main Dragons—a project run by a local artist who wishes to remain anonymous for the fourth dimension being—consists of nearly 300 mobile-sculptures all carefully strung up around the metropolis. Based out of South Seattle, the artist has been running this project for five years using scraps of wood and other discarded materials to create the dragons. The CD shards, which adorn the majority of sculptures every bit teeth, are a remnant of the artist's past life as a non very popular musician. They had been sitting on a giant stock of their old supply before deciding to utilize it in this project.

For the most part, these sculptures are dragons, hence the proper noun. "Time Traveling 🐉 Dragons. We're gonna salve the fucking world!" reads their Instagram bio. They tell me over the phone that this is a motto they like to stick to.

But not all of these sculptures are dragons. Some are abstract, some are poop emojis, others are "robber baron" characters they string in front end of banks and resemble a certain Commander-in-Chief.

One of those robber barons.

"No collusion!" JK

The artist tells me they mostly hang these sculptures in the dead of night to avoid interactions with the police or errant NIMBYs. Having never been arrested, they point out that technically nowhere in the Seattle municipal law does it define "graffiti" as any hung detail. They may be literally right, but their work does go taken downwardly in certain areas. Especially the Fundamental District.

When I asked them what compelled them to take on this projection, a project that came with risks, that had to be carefully thought out and orchestrated, that seemed a bit kooky and foreign simply full of vision, they revealed, "I don't really know why I'g doing this." Refreshing and honest! Hurrah!

"One matter I hear back from people sometimes is that it made them happy to come across," they continued. "Seattle, especially in the winter, can exist such a nighttime identify, dreary and but depressing. It's nice that [my work] will make somebody happy even just for a month." On a gloomy and rainy day like today, I empathise that.

Their plan for the time to come is to enlist more than collaborators to assist create a cartoon featuring the characters from the sculptures. Thinking even farther out, they told me of their dreams to create a theme park out in the middle of the desert, Disney-style. For now, the creative person is improving the sculptures, sometimes by calculation solar-powered LED lights and bicycle wheels to the mix.

As a pedestrian, I've been obsessed with these sculptures for months. The way their bright colors contrasted against the bluish summer heaven, the dominicus glinting off those abrupt-looking CD shards—it's all wonderfully homespun. And Seattle.

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