𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔. 𝑰𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑. 𝑰𝒕𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎... 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅, 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒆.

That image (a figure draped in tattered cloth blowing in the wind) sat in Jim Spindle’s mind long before Scarecrow became a collection. “I found this image to be compelling and powerful,” he says, “even though the scarecrow himself is not very empowered.” From that single vision, everything else followed.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑭𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒍

If Little Fellow was an exploration of the inner self... the passenger looking out through the windows... then Scarecrow is its inversion: impersonal, stoic, mythic. Where Little Fellow feels tender and introspective, Scarecrow is distant, watchful, almost devotional.

“The Scarecrow is made, and it is made for a purpose, and it is its purpose,” Jim explains. “It cannot stop doing its job or even pause so long as it exists.” In that endless posture, he finds shades of Sisyphus, Atlas, Prometheus. Figures defined not by what they choose to do, but by what they must.

𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒅

Visually, Scarecrow expands outward from that central image. “Scarecrow, farmland, produce, animals, Noah’s ark, Golgotha…” Jim says, tracing how one association led to another until a world began to form.

He describes the process as painstaking: “I worked on Scarecrow for over a year alongside the Spindle sculptures.” The tattered clothing became a kind of canvas for that world. A space where anything could be inscribed and still make sense.

Unlike many traitmaxxed collections that pile imagery in layers “somewhere between the viewer’s world and the NFT’s space,” Spindle’s goal was cohesion. “It was important to me to integrate all of the imagery into the fabric of the world,” he says. “It’s hard to resolve the imagery together when it’s all texturally diverse, but you know it will be combined randomly. This is actually a real test of one’s image-making abilities.”

The result is a collection that feels remarkably unified despite its variety... each figure a totemic being stitched together from soil, sky, and memory.

𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆

In the text accompanying the collection, collectors are invited to “hold the Scarecrow’s pose for ten minutes, ten hours, ten days.” It reads like instruction... or initiation.

“He didn’t decide to be a scarecrow,” Jim reflects, “but he abides.” That word 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑒 captures the quiet philosophy at the heart of this work. Stillness here isn’t passivity; it’s devotion. The Scarecrow fulfils his purpose not through action, but through remaining.

In a medium obsessed with motion and engagement, Spindle’s work reintroduces the idea of stillness as ritual. A reminder that endurance, too, can be expressive.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕

The Scarecrow project also unfolds across worlds. Digital and physical. Alongside the NFT collection are the wooden Spindle sculptures, exhibited at Yeche Galerie.

“I wasn’t thinking about NFTs or market fit,” Jim says. “I just wanted those sculptures to exist. I liked the idea of showing the online community these objects where tactility and physical process are a central virtue.”

Each Spindle, inspired by Japanese kokeshi dolls, connects back to the Scarecrow through form. Upright, limbless, quietly human. The link between the two became formalised through a redemption mechanic: collectors who hold 264 Scarecrows can redeem a Spindle sculpture, marking their NFTs as “Redeemed: True.”

“The redemption mechanism was honestly kind of an afterthought,” Jim admits. “I was making both projects as separate but parallel projects… I felt like operating in both the digital theatre and the real world might be a kind of force multiplier.”

That afterthought became one of the collection’s most resonant features. Turning accumulation into pilgrimage, and ownership into participation. “Each Scarecrow is a step toward the altar,” reads the description. It’s both instruction and parable.

𝑺𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚

Jim’s process is solitary. Hours spent at the lathe, focusing on where the chisel meets spinning wood. But the world his works enter is social, interpretive, multiplayer. The Scarecrow may stand alone, but the act of collecting, redeeming and discussing forms a kind of distributed ritual across hundreds of wallets.

In that way, Scarecrow extends what Little Fellow hinted at: the idea that NFTs are “a multiplayer game,” where meaning is shared rather than fixed.

𝑶𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

Asked whether he sees Scarecrow as part of the avant gay movement, Spindle demurs. “I’m influenced by some of my peers in the NFT space,” he says, “but I’m not really capable of thinking about my work in the context of a ‘movement.’”

He compares his practice to zooming in and out of focus: from the chisel tip, to the part’s shape, to the whole display... but never to the grand narrative. “That’s just not the type of thought that my brain produces,” he says.

And yet, his work embodies so many of the qualities that define that scene: sincerity and irony in the same breath, the coexistence of humour and gravity, the blurring of digital and physical craft. He doesn’t claim the label, but the label fits him anyway.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒆

Where Little Fellow looked inward, Scarecrow looks outward. One questions the self; the other accepts the task. Together, they form a cycle... two halves of an inquiry into being.

To stand, to wait, to fulfil one’s purpose. The Scarecrow doesn’t move, but everything around it does. And perhaps that’s the point: in a space that never stops moving, meaning sometimes emerges from those willing to hold their pose.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔. 𝑰𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑. 𝑰𝒕𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎... 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅, 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒆.

That image (a figure draped in tattered cloth blowing in the wind) sat in Jim Spindle’s mind long before Scarecrow became a collection. “I found this image to be compelling and powerful,” he says, “even though the scarecrow himself is not very empowered.” From that single vision, everything else followed.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑭𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒍

If Little Fellow was an exploration of the inner self... the passenger looking out through the windows... then Scarecrow is its inversion: impersonal, stoic, mythic. Where Little Fellow feels tender and introspective, Scarecrow is distant, watchful, almost devotional.

“The Scarecrow is made, and it is made for a purpose, and it is its purpose,” Jim explains. “It cannot stop doing its job or even pause so long as it exists.” In that endless posture, he finds shades of Sisyphus, Atlas, Prometheus. Figures defined not by what they choose to do, but by what they must.

𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒅

Visually, Scarecrow expands outward from that central image. “Scarecrow, farmland, produce, animals, Noah’s ark, Golgotha…” Jim says, tracing how one association led to another until a world began to form.

He describes the process as painstaking: “I worked on Scarecrow for over a year alongside the Spindle sculptures.” The tattered clothing became a kind of canvas for that world. A space where anything could be inscribed and still make sense.

Unlike many traitmaxxed collections that pile imagery in layers “somewhere between the viewer’s world and the NFT’s space,” Spindle’s goal was cohesion. “It was important to me to integrate all of the imagery into the fabric of the world,” he says. “It’s hard to resolve the imagery together when it’s all texturally diverse, but you know it will be combined randomly. This is actually a real test of one’s image-making abilities.”

The result is a collection that feels remarkably unified despite its variety... each figure a totemic being stitched together from soil, sky, and memory.

𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆

In the text accompanying the collection, collectors are invited to “hold the Scarecrow’s pose for ten minutes, ten hours, ten days.” It reads like instruction... or initiation.

“He didn’t decide to be a scarecrow,” Jim reflects, “but he abides.” That word 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑒 captures the quiet philosophy at the heart of this work. Stillness here isn’t passivity; it’s devotion. The Scarecrow fulfils his purpose not through action, but through remaining.

In a medium obsessed with motion and engagement, Spindle’s work reintroduces the idea of stillness as ritual. A reminder that endurance, too, can be expressive.

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕

The Scarecrow project also unfolds across worlds. Digital and physical. Alongside the NFT collection are the wooden Spindle sculptures, exhibited at Yeche Galerie.

“I wasn’t thinking about NFTs or market fit,” Jim says. “I just wanted those sculptures to exist. I liked the idea of showing the online community these objects where tactility and physical process are a central virtue.”

Each Spindle, inspired by Japanese kokeshi dolls, connects back to the Scarecrow through form. Upright, limbless, quietly human. The link between the two became formalised through a redemption mechanic: collectors who hold 264 Scarecrows can redeem a Spindle sculpture, marking their NFTs as “Redeemed: True.”

“The redemption mechanism was honestly kind of an afterthought,” Jim admits. “I was making both projects as separate but parallel projects… I felt like operating in both the digital theatre and the real world might be a kind of force multiplier.”

That afterthought became one of the collection’s most resonant features. Turning accumulation into pilgrimage, and ownership into participation. “Each Scarecrow is a step toward the altar,” reads the description. It’s both instruction and parable.

𝑺𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚

Jim’s process is solitary. Hours spent at the lathe, focusing on where the chisel meets spinning wood. But the world his works enter is social, interpretive, multiplayer. The Scarecrow may stand alone, but the act of collecting, redeeming and discussing forms a kind of distributed ritual across hundreds of wallets.

In that way, Scarecrow extends what Little Fellow hinted at: the idea that NFTs are “a multiplayer game,” where meaning is shared rather than fixed.

𝑶𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

Asked whether he sees Scarecrow as part of the avant gay movement, Spindle demurs. “I’m influenced by some of my peers in the NFT space,” he says, “but I’m not really capable of thinking about my work in the context of a ‘movement.’”

He compares his practice to zooming in and out of focus: from the chisel tip, to the part’s shape, to the whole display... but never to the grand narrative. “That’s just not the type of thought that my brain produces,” he says.

And yet, his work embodies so many of the qualities that define that scene: sincerity and irony in the same breath, the coexistence of humour and gravity, the blurring of digital and physical craft. He doesn’t claim the label, but the label fits him anyway.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒆

Where Little Fellow looked inward, Scarecrow looks outward. One questions the self; the other accepts the task. Together, they form a cycle... two halves of an inquiry into being.

To stand, to wait, to fulfil one’s purpose. The Scarecrow doesn’t move, but everything around it does. And perhaps that’s the point: in a space that never stops moving, meaning sometimes emerges from those willing to hold their pose.