Think about your own weird collections. Maybe you have a drawer full of concert tickets, or a box of old keys you can’t bear to throw away. To anyone else, it’s junk. To you, it’s a diary. Cynthia’s collection is exactly that—a diary of the rock and roll era, written in plaster.
When you look at a ticket stub, you remember the smell of the arena and the song that gave you chills. When you look at a plaster cast of, say, Jimi Hendrix, you’re looking at a tangible piece of that person’s energy. It’s weirdly intimate. It makes you think about the human behind the myth.
It’s Not Porn, It’s Pop Art
Here’s the thing that makes people smile: Cynthia wasn’t creepy. She was a fan. A dedicated, slightly obsessive fan with a very specific hobby. She approached it like an artist, or like a scientist. Her goal wasn’t to be shocking—it was to preserve a moment of euphoric connection between an artist and his audience (in this case, her).
Cynthia Plaster Caster, The Groupie Who Cast Penises In Plaster
Compare it to your friend who collects vintage lunchboxes. “Why?” you ask. “Because it’s fun and reminds me of Saturday morning cartoons!” Cynthia could say the same thing about her casts, just with a much sharper punchline.
