bio

A short introduction to the artist :

Dylan Strzynski was born in 1976 in the city of Flint, Michigan. The late 70’s were an economically troubled period for America and this was nowhere more apparent than in waning rust belt industrial centers like Flint. The very modest circumstances into which Dylan was born were not likely to improve and a few years later when a crumbling economy and political climate unfavorable toward social programs effectively ended his father’s teaching career, the family moved to a new life in northern Michigan. It was there; surrounded by forests and water that he spent his formative years. Drawing was second nature to the young man, a trait clearly taken from his father who as well as having been a teacher and scientist was also a commercial artist to whom drawing had also been automatic. An only child, Dylan grew up as a solitary oddball who spent a lot of time transferring a complex inner world on to paper. He produced home made comic books, adventure maps and diagrammatic science fiction sagas. Dylan continued to be guided by his artistic predisposition into adolescence that lead him to also explore music and creative writing. However, visual art would prove to be his primary focus and the one that he pursued in college.

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The artist who has come to be known as “Dylan Strzynski,” was literally born with a pencil in his hand. To say that his mother was “not happy,” is an understatement. Although initially eschewing drugs, she warmed quickly to the idea of anesthetics when she learned about the pencil. Dylan was the first of four unusual children. He was followed by a small green bird named “Eagle,” a nameless newt boy and lastly “Bucky,” the youngest, a yellow and very ornery dog. By the time she had given birth to her forth child from a forth species, Mrs. Strzynski stopped wondering how her unborn son had gotten hold of a pencil. In the end the pencil served Dylan well. Since it was there he’d always used it and had gotten very good at drawing. One day the King of Tragic City – the town where the young artist lived with his unusual family – held an art contest. The winner would be granted freedom from slavery for he and his family. Dylan’s second youngest brother, the newt boy, had grown particularly weary of building pyramids and asked his brother to enter the contest. Having never been very ambitious but not much liking slavery either, Dylan followed his brother’s suggestion. There were few other artists in Tragic City and fewer good ones so Dylan won the contest without even trying. Freedom for he and his family was very welcome but the greatest prize was the encouragement he gained from winning which prompted him to more seriously follow a career in art. The rest as they say, is history.

Or. . .

Dylan Strzynski was found on a battlefield in Belgium in 1918. Apparently, the Red Barron, angry at a lover who had recently given birth to the child, stole the infant away the first chance he could. Later that same afternoon, the Barron flew high above enemy territory with the infant where he dropped it over board as a symbol of disrespect. Miraculously the child fell directly into the arms of a WACs nurse passing below on her way to treat some doughboys for trench mouth. The nurse figured that, since the baby fell from a German aircraft it must be a Hun and being herself of Welsh descent and a fan of Dylan Thomas, comprised by naming the falling baby “Dylan Strzynski.” The WACs nurse took the baby home with her after the war and although poor did her damnedest to bring the boy up right. This included discouraging any interest he might have in creative, or “sissy” activities not befitting a good American boy. Dylan loved to draw and paint but when ever the well meaning but misguided nurse caught him making things she would slap his hands and break his pencils. All of this negative re-enforcement did wonders for the budding artist skills and commitment to his craft. This did not go unnoticed by neighbor N.C. Wyeth who took an interest in the boy mostly out of spite for the old woman. Each day, when the nurse thought Dylan was at school, he was in N.C.’s studio learning to draw and paint. By the time she figured out was really going on it was too late.