Post Eleven: Ruh Roh

I'm not going to lie -- I was a total cartoon junkie when I was younger.  I spent my productive childhood being entertained by the likes of many a cartoon -- from the classics (Bugs was my top Loony Toon), to the gritty nineties' Ren & Stimpy, to the fairly modern Spongebob Squarepants.  I loved them all.  Even today, I find myself tuning into the occasional wabbit season, or accidentally laughing out loud at The Fairly Odd Parents or Futurama -- two of the more clever shows I've come across.  I don't quite know what keeps me coming back to them; I'm well aware of how embarrassing it is to be happily watching them, but I can't stay away!  I'm fairly positive that my kindergarden self wasn't attracted by the witty banter, but rather by the jovial use of movement and color.  I know this is going to sound absolutely absurd, but cartoon characters have an animation (really, no pun intended) that I find fascinating.  Their liveliness and indestructibility are things that we, as humans, can't legitimately possess.  I've never really thought about it before, but those qualities are very well epitomized by the characters' appearance.  Most cartoons are made up of simplified, stylized lines and flat, often bright (depending on the time period, demographic, and artist) colors.  These qualities push the characters just far enough away from reality so that viewers may suspend their corporeal disbelief.  I realize that I am more than likely reading far too deeply into something so childish, but the topic really got me thinking.  Moreover, I started to think about the idea of cartoon color/line/movement schemes and fabric prints; if clothes could embody the ideals portrayed by cartoons, then the clotheswearer would follow suit.  If handled accurately, a person could be dressed to look 'lively and indestructible' -- unwaveringly fun.
That being said, you can imagine my delight when I feasted my eyes on the scene showed below.  Yes, somewhere, deep within the residential streets of Staten Island, there lies an extremely devoted member of the gang (for those of you who aren't that familiar with the many adventures of Scooby Doo, the characters are well versed in seventies jargon...and fashions).

I'm completely obsessed.  I'm thoroughly jealous.  I'm aware that this is almost as embarrassing as carrying around Pokeballs (...of Pokemon.  Don't worry; I was never really a fan.), but I was literally stopped in my tracks by how cool this was.  

It isn't a bad likeness either; I've seen some seriously homemade versions on TV or the internet.  But this is borderline professional.  I'm thinking of hiring the owner of the vehicle for some detective work.  

Here's the gang.  I think they very much visually demonstrate what I was writing about.  For some reason, instead of making them seem stationary, their two-dimensionality and flat, bright colors work to bring them to life.  

I used some colors I "eyedroppered" from the first photo to make a motif; the colors are somewhat dated, so I sought out to make a motif that followed suit.  

While I certainly can't see such a print on Daphne (why, yes, I did just reference that fashionista cartoon character as if she were a real person), I dig it.  I tried to reference the movement of the characters as well as their colorful flexibility.