I realized this past Sunday that pinball machine art parallels comic art so far as a certain kind of, oh, liberty taken with the depiction of the female form. I started with the picture in the last slide, and from there, I went to full-on demented documentarian mode.
At one point, having watched me walk from machine to machine, taking very precise, very close pictures of most of them, a man asked me what I was up to. “Oh,” I said, “I just enjoy the art of it.”
Even this poor, daffy lady whose head is being devoured by her novelty hat had to get out the full cleavage here. Come on.
A noble attempt at draping.
I think this is the kind of art that results from not breastfeeding your children. This kind of early denial can result in a lifelong ignorance of certain basic facts. Learning windows, people.
Boobwater is refreshing AND hilarious, eh, Muscles?
Oh, god, no, throw it back.
Imagine how horrified she'd be if her dress weren't glued to her boobs.
"We had to interrupt our key party to form this mob!"
And here we have the appearance of a kind of over-aerobicized 70s/80s look.
Pinball art is even more concentrated and niche than comics art (although I'm pretty certain there's a shit-ton of artist overlap, if you go looking). But there's a glimpse of something weird and personal in some of these. And the distinct aesthetic on this machine makes me feel like that's what I'm looking at.
Either that star bikini is custom made, or she's a nipple-placement model for the swimwear industry.
Not sure if joy, terror, or about to unhinge to devour.
Again with the areola shadows.
She's so happy! And cold! And, like her gentleman friend, subject to piercing certain vital viscera should they try to sit down!
Not the best picture, but the very subtle composition of overlapping spheres was too fine to omit.
I feel like this is some kind of horrible side adventure cut from Preacher for the sin of being too fucked up.
This one's beautifully drawn, though, and her ring is killer.
Not bad in a pointy-1950s-hooters kind of way. But wait...
I can't deal with robots with tits. I just can't. There's an awful one that I've shuddered at for years, but Googling "sexy robot pinball" is as far as I'm willing to go down that rabbithole. I'll take a picture next time I'm at Shorty's.
Robots with tits, no no no.
"We are sacrificing our finest beaded nipple patches to appease the gods this day. May they be just and merciful. And just barely rated PG-13."
There are two ways to enjoy pinball in Seattle, because we truly live on god-kissed earth.
Want it buffet-style? Go to the Seattle Pinball Museum. They also serve beer and soda, and you can buy clever themed buttons and your very own pinball. (They have a delightful heft.)
Prefer a la carte? Consider Shorty’s, Add-a-Ball, John John’s, or one of the many solo machines scattered throughout the city.