The Bucktooth Illuminati: How a Dumb Smile Defeated Evil (and Improved My Fence)

Back in the early-to-mid 2000s, before everything got optimized, curated, and filtered into oblivion, my house had something better than good taste—it had character. And by "character," I mean a truly awful, weather-beaten, falling-apart wooden fence that looked like it had lost a long fight with time, sun, and probably a few questionable decisions.

But that fence ended up becoming one of the best accidental canvases I've ever owned.

During those years, I threw a lot of parties. Not the polite, "please take your shoes off" kind—these were loud, chaotic, creative gatherings where music bled into the night and people brought whatever energy they had. And every now and then, something special would happen.

A few of those events, local artists showed up and paint and cans came out. Ideas got loose. And my terrible fence slowly turned into something worth looking at.

One night, an artist named Ean showed up and added what would become one of my favorite pieces: a strange, unforgettable character I came to think of as the Bucktooth Illuminati.

Picture it: a rough, almost conspiratorial triangle shape, a single eye staring out like it knows something you don't—and then… buck teeth. Big, unapologetic, slightly ridiculous buck teeth.

It stopped you in your tracks, not because it was intimidating, but because it wasn't.

Naturally, I asked him about it. What was it supposed to be?

Ean didn't overexplain. He just shrugged and said: "If you put buckteeth on anything evil, it immediately makes it less evil."

That stuck with me.

There's something deeply human—and deeply funny—about undercutting seriousness with just a hint of absurdity. The "all-seeing eye" has been a symbol tied to mystery, power, and sometimes outright paranoia for centuries. But slap a pair of goofy buck teeth on it, and suddenly it's not watching you… it's kind of derpy. Maybe even friendly. Definitely not running the world from behind the scenes.

It's like taking the edge off fear by making it a little ridiculous.

Layers of Paint, Creativity, and Friends

That piece became a quiet legend among friends who came through. People would notice it, laugh, take pictures, and then inevitably someone would ask, "What's the deal with that thing?"

And the answer was always simple: it's proof that humor can disarm just about anything.

Looking back, that fence—once an eyesore—became a living scrapbook of those nights. Layers of paint, overlapping styles, inside jokes you couldn't fully explain to anyone who wasn't there. The Bucktooth Illuminati just happened to be the clearest expression of what those parties were about: creativity without ego, art without permission, and a willingness to not take things too seriously.

These days, everything feels a little more polished, a little more intentional. But there was something honest about that time. About letting people create freely on something broken and ending up with something unexpectedly meaningful.

And if there's a lesson in all of it, maybe it's this:

If something feels a little too serious, too intimidating, or too "important"—it might just need buck teeth.

It won't fix everything.

But it'll make it a hell of a lot more approachable.