Neville was born in the cold winter of nineteen sixty nine in the middle of four burros in New York city and lived happily for his younger years until New York changed its domesticated animals bylaws to no longer include donkeys as allowable. His family was all taken away save for one that the officers deemed as on its last legs and it was decided that something had better be left to appease the growing grumblings of some the larger rats who had formed a gang looking for small children to barbeque.
So with his ass in a sling, Neville wandered the streets around Soho. To survive he would offer to sell his ass to anyone who looked upon him kindly by offering him the crumbs of their hot pretzels and last drop of their coffee. The years passed swiftly and Neville grew from a mere sprig to a branch, dragging his ass from one cardboard box to another.
Then in 1997, while he was sitting and scratching his ass, he spied in the gutter a thin blue elastic band floating hauntingly in a stagnant pool of urine. He picked up the band and cradled it in his palms, agog with wonder of the simplicity of its lines. As if guided from a gentle nudge from the heavens, he bunched up his hair and placed the band around the long tufts tightly.
Suddenly, a new world opened to him; some would say that the tightness of the band caused his hair to valiantly try to remain adhered to his scalp, others would say the one act of the blue interlacing with the brownness of his hair sparked his creative talent, and others still would say that if he would have gotten his hair at some point other than letting grow for 28 years he wouldn’t have been blind in the first place.
With this new outlook on life, Neville decided to get his ass in gear – and ran straight smack into a speeding cab. The ensuing collision splattered the animal like popping a helium balloon and caused the naked Neville to go face first into the splayed brain matter and blood and then slid for over twenty feet across harsh asphalt. When asked if he was alright he is quoted as saying, “If you were bleeding from your ass, would you be?”
Five stories up from where Neville sat trying to pick the chunks of asphalt that had embedded themselves in his scrotum, Herbert Thurplemeyer by chance looked down and saw not an accident scene but a glorious and exciting artist and his blood red work of art that spoke volumes of “the menstrual cycle of human existence experienced the way only a man can”. Herbert rushed down the stairs of his offices of his publishing company called “Stories to seduce Doberman Pinchers To” and to his new found artist extraordinaire. He bent down and asked the dazed Neville how he created such a masterpiece.
Neville looked down at his crotch and the long jagged strips of flesh that now was his penis and said, “My pee pee is now a wee wee.” From that point the partnership of Herbert Thurplemeyer and Neville Nubnibbler began; Herbert selling Neville’s art that he created with the only thing he could afford; his penis. To this day Neville creates his art with the penis method, mostly due to the fact that no one has explained to him the decimal system and he thinks 0.50 % is a king’s “damn good money”.
Neville has garnered several rave reviews from still in the closet art critics who still live with their mothers – mostly because they can openly say “I love the stuff that comes from that guy’s penis” without worrying about a reprisal of a serious ear flicking.
Neville currently resides in the box of the refrigerator that Herbert bought for his wife last week and has never forgotten that he is where he is because he made an ass of himself that fateful day…
A couple of summers ago Neville would see a man from Australia that would change his thinking about the use of a brush as a tool for painting. The Aussie painted landscapes with his penis which got Neville thinking about whether he could use his own penis as a paint brush. Not as noteworthy as the legend, but then again when does reality ever live up to its myth?
The rain drizzled down lazily as I stepped out of the weather into the darkened basement/studio of Neville Nubnibbler, a little known painter from Alberta, Canada. He has painted 34 paintings, all but three have gone to private buyers through a gallery owned by a friend of his. It was not that his paintings were that spectacular that I felt the need to interview him but rather his method of painting: using his penis as a brush. I sat down with paper in hand and began my interview with Neville Nubnibbler the penis painter.
AB: I suppose the most obvious question to ask is that since you paint with your penis, are you pornography or art?
NN: I have distaste for the use of the word “art”. To me “art” always brings back memories of school where “art” was according to the teacher’s tunnel vision of what she wanted. If art is to be self expression then the educational system has raped it of any value. “Creativity” is fare more digestible of a term. Creativity isn’t bound by a result but is of more import in the process. I like “artiste” because it bastardizes the English vocabulary of “artist” in an inferred sense of pretentiousness which is a natural by-product of creativity realized.
My first painting started out very much with the premise of being for shock value – being able to say, “I painted this…with my dick” and I have no illusions that “prick painting” is used as a marketing hook. That being said I believe that there is legitimacy to painting this way. It’s far more than rolling your cock in paint and plopping it onto some canvas, paper or glass; there is thought, methodology and concentration involved.
“Lofty Dreams” is the first painting done by Neville
Some people mistake nudity as sex; its one of the earliest taught concepts to institute control over a person by instilling guilt about something that they have no control over. By making the human form something that is to be hidden away it provides a base for other canons of ‘morality’ that make people less individualistic and therefore compliant. Even the act of sex isn’t necessarily pornographic as long as it’s done naturally; if the intention is to say, “gee look at how juicy my pussy is” or “look how big my cock is and it’s not even all the way in” then it is pornographic – the act itself is not.
I don’t consider what I’m doing something designed to be directly sexual in nature; if it’s the draw indirectly, then so be it, but jacking off isn’t part of the deal, if people get off on thinking what I’m doing with my dick afterward I have no problem with that but don’t demean the process of what I’m trying to accomplish. I know that it isn’t the ultimate in the hoity toity world of what an artiste should be doing but I do have pride in that creation even if in the end it isn’t verified by anyone but myself. It helps that soon as the canvas or glass is dry it is shipped to wherever it’s supposed to be so I don’t dwell on whether or not I could have done something different with the painting so I don’t get to know the whether it is satisfactory to anyone else but myself.
NN: Think about it this way: if you’re touching and manipulating your dick for, pardon the pun, an extended amount of time the normal payout for it is ejaculation. To paint with your dick you have to maintain a semi-hardness. Too hard and you can’t arc or feather the paint plus theirs the danger of having leakage that destroys the integrity of the paint itself. Too soft and there isn’t the solidness you need to apply the appropriate pressure to paint evenly.
In essence penis painting is freeing; one of the most frustrating things for me when painting in the traditional manner was that I was never totally satisfied with the outcome because I would second guess on whether I should have used a fine haired brush, a course brush or what the width of the brush should have been instead of the one I used. With penis painting I don’t have really much choice in the matter of the size of, once again pardon the pun, the strokes that I use. There is only a certain percentage of leeway I have to adjust the width of my ‘brush’ so I can’t second guess myself on that part of the painting process.
AB: So how do you whore yourself out to indulge in your hobby of penis painting?
NN: All the contract work is managed by a friend of mine and her members only gallery. It’s a very small site and until I started painting most of the people only knew me as one of the oddities that my friend took nude photographs of over the normal six pack twelve inch dicked men that ordinarily get the larger crowd of appreciators. I imagine there was some sort of fucked up sick appeal to having a balding, overweight and unsymmetrical subject so it seemed like a natural fit for she and I to work together on crafting my interest into something that would make a couple of dimes for the both of us.
It took a little getting used to having people contract to me to paint a portrait of themselves, their husbands, wives, what have you. With the old way of painting I let my imagine decide where I was going with it, mostly cows and horses, but for some reason it seems to me to be wrong to paint a cow with my dick – the human form seems to compliment far better. I prefer to sketch out with a pencil on a piece of paper what I’m looking to capture but most of the clientele are not in the area so I have to work with either a picture or have them pose via a video conference set up. From there I paint.
AB: Have you ever tried painting via a video conference?
NN: I tried that once but was immediately turned off by it.
AB: Why was that?
NN: Two reasons: I like to take my time and the one and only time I tried it the client misunderstood what was occurring and asked me to masturbate for her. I cut off the connection and my friend severed her business from that person.
AB: Do you wish that you were more successful so that you could spend your days and nights painting?
NN: Hell no! Creativity is an emotional tape worm that is gluttonous with your time, indulging its demands until you grow weak. It’s best to starve it often lest all your concern goes to your creativity. Take Da Vinci, he dabbled in everything so though he was without a doubt superhumanly creative he varied that creativity’s focus. By contrast, look at Hemmingway or Toulouse, they ended up being devoured by theirs. A painting every couple of months is fine enough for me; it allows me to live in reality and gain inspiration by living instead of stagnating in my own little world.
With that Neville decided that the interview was over and with a flick of his hand sent me back into the drizzling rain. Is Neville just a side show of poorly crafted erotica or is he actually as he believes someone creating a legitimate piece of art? I suppose it’s all on the person who views it as what it is; that’s both the strength and weakness of art – you can’t please all the people all the time and without fail while someone will be willing to applaud you there are ten others willing to condemn you.