Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.
Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.
Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.
Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.
Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.
Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.
Nils... The Gooseboy.  Gooseboys.

Nils... The Gooseboy. Gooseboys.

Regular price $0.00 Sale

My namesake. And my father's namesake. And his father's namesake. And his father's namesake. And we're not sure, but maybe also his namesake?

My Farfar (that's "Father's father") made a similar drawing of Nils the Gooseboy--taken from a book of the same name--and hung it up on the family's barn in Maine, where we all commune every summer. It's a nice series of rituals that I love and is dear to me because it guarantees that you don't just pass people by. You know you'll see them again, and you can count on them.  This "pilgrimage" of sorts is very valuable to me for that reason.

Well, time passes, and things change. My Farfar died in 2007, my dad moved out from this shared property in 2014 (relax, it's literally right next door) and *gasp* Nils the Gooseboy rotted and broke.  Fortunately, I had taken a photo years ago.  I put that photo into Photoshop and adjusted the angle since I had my phone pointed upwards towards it, then I traced it out and built a CNC program around it to make two more figures.  Here they are!

-Nils