The Art of the Brick

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tattoo

The tattoo? I felt like I needed something

permanent. LEGO art had become a part of

me, so I thought I might as well make it formal.

I’m also quite proud of what I do. The idea of a

LEGO artist didn’t exist 10 years ago!

When I’m at an airport going through

customs and have to fill out that “What’s

youremployment?” form, I always put

“LEGOartist.” When I’m questioned further

(and I’m always questioned further), I pull out

acatalog ofmy work, everyone gets a good

laugh, and then I go on to where I have to be.

By this point, I pretty much always carry a copy

of my portfolio, just to prove I’m legit!

My body is my journal, and my tattoos are my story.

— Jo hnn y De p p

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I meet other LEGO artists from time to time,

and when I do, it’s half Band of Brothers and

half turf-fight. When someone says, “Hi, I’m a

LEGO artist,” it’s something like saying, “I’m

an astronaut,” because nobody becomes a

LEGO artist. It’s so foreign as a job, but there

is a bond. Because when you use this medium,

you know things about it that other people just

don’t understand. You know what it takes to

build something, the patience you have to have,

the struggle that you have with glue or shipping

or other everyday LEGO-artist things. Almost

nobody on the planet would know about that

except this person you have a connection with.

Because you’ve been there. I was in Israel with

this guy, and he was excited to have his work on

exhibit; when one of his little structures broke,

boy, was I feeling his pain.

I’m sure other artists have that feeling: “All art

is temporary, after all.” But there’s something

different about LEGO bricks because of the way

they’re designed to fall apart.

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