Folk art snake
An extraordinary early 20th-century folk art snake, coiled with intention and patience, built almost entirely from approximately 4,200 Victorian and Edwardian postage stamps. Red and black fragments of once-ordinary correspondence are folded, layered, and packed so tightly they become scales, giving the body a dense, rippling texture that feels both organic and improbably meticulous.
The head and tail are formed from fabric, softly stitched and subtly expressive, with bright red button eyes that glow just enough to feel alert without tipping into menace. There’s a gentle humor here, but also a seriousness of craft. Every stamp was placed by hand—slowly turning the ephemera of daily life into something oddly alive.
Up close, the surface is full of small discoveries. Bits of typography, partial postmarks, flashes of color peeking through the brown patina of age. The stamps have mellowed beautifully, giving the snake a warmth and depth that only paper and time can produce. At 75 cm long, it has real presence, whether coiled in a nook or stretched out on a shelf.
An extraordinary early 20th-century folk art snake, coiled with intention and patience, built almost entirely from approximately 4,200 Victorian and Edwardian postage stamps. Red and black fragments of once-ordinary correspondence are folded, layered, and packed so tightly they become scales, giving the body a dense, rippling texture that feels both organic and improbably meticulous.
The head and tail are formed from fabric, softly stitched and subtly expressive, with bright red button eyes that glow just enough to feel alert without tipping into menace. There’s a gentle humor here, but also a seriousness of craft. Every stamp was placed by hand—slowly turning the ephemera of daily life into something oddly alive.
Up close, the surface is full of small discoveries. Bits of typography, partial postmarks, flashes of color peeking through the brown patina of age. The stamps have mellowed beautifully, giving the snake a warmth and depth that only paper and time can produce. At 75 cm long, it has real presence, whether coiled in a nook or stretched out on a shelf.