If you could pick one fictional character to be best friends with for a day who would it be? Lame question I know, but after reading The Catcher in the Rye for the first time this week I know who I wouldn't love to spend a day with, Holden Caulfield. I would struggle to bite my tounge, but I suppose it would be fun to keep my hands in my pockets and just watch him do his stuff. We would probably go to Dublin and he'd say something like, 'Catholics are always trying to find out if you're Catholic'. I'd take him to a gallery to see some art, maybe some of Kime Buzzelli's stuff. I wonder what he'd think of that.
I have been watching lots of the 'La Blogotheque' channel on youtube ever since I was recommended this video by Yeasayer. I know Fleet Foxes have been doing the rounds for quite some time, and they haven't slipped past my gaze without some appreciation, however this Blogotheque video, captured inside the Grand Palais, reminded me that I needed to include them in the blog, give it a watch, or at least a listen.
Moody Street Irregulars. Now how about we get this old dog out of retirement, seeing as Beatnik is all the rage these days. There is room for a Beatnik magazine for today's Beatnickers, as I like to call them. Fleet Foxes included. I'll get to work.
Has anyone seen The U.S. Vs. John Lennon? I just watched the trailer, looks interesting. A few years old now it seems.
French caricaturist and lithographer Charles Amédée de Noé, aka 'Cham' was only ever known to me as the artist who created the famous oil painting with the longwinded title, 'We gentlemen all love virtuous maidens', caricature depicting a bounder or cad admiring a pretty girl', yet it has been my custom over recent days to use wikipedia to find out a little bit more about artists and the like. It turns out Cham has over 40,000 caricatures waiting to be enjoyed. I found a few, all published by Le Charivari around 1845.
The first today has a caption, spoken by the on-looking farm hand and directed towards his rich employer. It reads, "C'est drole, monsieur et madame engraissent mais c'est pas du meme cote". Which translates to say, 'It's funny, monsieur and madame are stout but it's not on the same side.' The poor farmer is unaware of the fashion at the time, something it seems Cham was all to happy to laugh at. He has a number of sketches poking fun at Parisian women and their fashion.
The second and third are Cham's dig at the upper classes, devoted to their horse racing, the caption on the first reads, 'I beg your pardon. Do you know the name of the falling rider? Eh! Why, of course! I'm searching in the program for the name of the one who has the broken head, it's that simple!', while the second, depicting another fallen rider, this time with a ridiculous helmet on, states, 'Modification of the costume of jockeys, proposed by "Le Charivari", refined to break the fall on the head, which is frequent in any steeple chase.'
Of course these are not the greatest sketches, captions or contain particularly off the wall views, but it was great to see more of this artist, who in my eyes, before searching, was rather somewhat of a one trick pony.
I must apologise, posts have been a little light on the ground these last few days. Time to shape up. Hamburgereyes have been showing us all how a blog should really be. It tends to help that they also have a successful magazine going on the side, maybe there is a lesson in there....Crailtap have been the best for a long while, and their site doesn't let them down. I used to visit almost daily, then I stopped, it's time to start again. I would love to go through my itunes one day and check to see how much of the great music has come directly from hearing the respective bands on skate videos.
Today I want to talk about a dog. His name is Dagny, he is an English Bull Terrier and he is a dream. If you know not of how beautiful these dogs are, then I have been roaming through images to find you some that do justice. Some of you will turn away in disgust at their beady eyes and pinky skin tones, but their posture, their ears and that nose, how can you not love them?
There are the young one's, peering over that long snout. The mucky pups who hold their head in shame. The Sunday sun lovers and the beautiful one's, like Rita above. I just need to get that farm I have also been dreaming about so Dagny can chase after me on my steed as we herd the cattle. A dog is for life and all that jazz.
21/04/09 Meet me in the desert
There is something about the warm evening air. It longs to be filled with new music. None of this same old same old. I seem to discover so much more new music when the sun is bright in the sky. There must be a reason. For now I'll just tell you about my new love, Tinariwen. While everybody else is choosing class A drugs and black teeth, these band of nomads are keeping the sand from their eyes and giving their camels a much needed rest, or at least that's what they look like they should be doing. They came to the attention of the rest of the world after playing the Festival au Désert some eight years ago. They really are one of these bands where knowing their origins adds to the music, so go read some info if you like what you hear at all. Try here and here.
I had come across them, not after hearing their music, but rather from seeing the above pictures on Glen Burrow's website. Scroll all the way to the right to see some more. I am glad I kept scrolling, because after hearing good things about him, then seeing dark moody shot after dark moody shot of a teeth bearing rapper I was loosing faith, I stuck in their until the end.
Friday past saw two great artists put together an exhibition, and knowing the hard work put in, I thought I'd let you see the end result. I wasn't there, the small matter of the Atlantic Ocean put an end to that fairytale, however thanks to MB, we can all see Beth and Justin's work in glorious technicolour.
Lastly, the city was great, if not rather busy. The streets become like the mid point in an hour glass as folks group together to watch buskers on Grafton Street. Anyone heard of Felix Sonnyboy Wilson? You should listen to him, 'Play his Banjo'. The guy who is helping him here, I think he calls him Thomas can be seen with another group on the streets, truly amazing, i'll see if I can get some more info on them this week.
Rushing out the door, the city awaits. What do you not leave behind when you venture out? I would ask you all to post pictures below and write, but you're a quiet bunch. I didn't have time to take snaps of my wallet, camera, phone, ipod or hat of choice, but how abouts my bag and shoes? Will that suffice? The bag, of course, is Freitag, the biggest of my two. It fits all sorts, today I'm on the hunt for books and magazines. Inspiration. I'll be sure to let you know what I discover. The shoes, as grim and gross as they look, are my favourites. Army issue pumps. Once white. I used to do this sort of thing a lot, here, an old one.
In other news I have been listening and watching Kate Bush, finding it comforting when dogs and their owners look similar and reading myloveforyou and thisheartsonfire. Maybe if I wasn't doing all of that I'd have had time to post more pictures. Apologies.
What is in a name? A great deal of attraction in some cases. I heard tell of Madonna Staunton in passing a while back, and the only reason I went alooking for her, some days later, was that I could recall her name. When I first heard about her my mind jumped to a visualisation of a young up and coming artist, ironically called Madonna by parents who were so cool they were already playing the uncool card. She would work with huge canvases and watercolours, paiting abstract landscapes in vivid colours, all washed out and dream like.
If anything, my attempt to guess what kind of art would come from a name showed me that my thought patterns are wasted on such endeavours, for while I'm sure at one point Staunton was young and up and coming, I was amazed to find that she was born in 1938, long before Madonna was being touched for the very first time. Out went the name theory and my intrigue grew.
My dear friend Google has little to say of the woman Madonna S, but her artwork is accessible. There was a retrospective exhibition held at the Institute of Modern Art, Brisbane almost six years ago so if you're curious head over there to read more. The John Buckley gallery also has some of her work, as well as lots of other collage pieces from artists, creating 'The Contemporary Collage' exhibition.
Other, less coherent thoughts for today include my wish for more excuses to wear certain clothes, yet when it comes to the nitty gritty of getting all dressed up, dapper comes harder then you think. If only I owned a suit like either of these fine gentlemen, Last Shadow Puppets. Now that's a great music video. I do wonder if Alex Turner will become another great. I've got high hopes.
A dear friend is quite the gifted artist, you should read her blog. You've no idea how life like that doll in the link is. I found Bobby Dazzler quite by accident, and while I don't think they're quite as good as Johanna, I thought i'd give them a mention. Their website alone deserves a look.
'I had an odd thought today about the war that might come to something, but it seems to call for a poet. That in the dead quietness that comes after the carnage, the one thing those lying on the ground must be wondering is whether they are alive or dead. Out there the veil that seperates the survivors and the killed must be getting very thin, and those on the one side of it very much jumbled up with those on the other....Perhaps it is of this stuff that ghosts are made. These be rather headachy thoughts. I expect the lot on the other side of the veil have as many German as British, and that they all went off together quite unconcious that they had ever been enemies. To avenge the fallen! That is the stupidest cry of the war. What must the fallen think of us if they hear it.' J.M.Barrie
War. I have read books, written papers, passed exams, argued for, fought against. I have learned east versus west, north fighting south. I have thought to myself that I knew what it would mean, to be 18, rifle in hand, feet drenched, unsure of my cause, all too aware of the cost. Yet very few will ever know what the 'Great' means, nor grasp what it does to oneself.
When he was not writing Peter Pan, J.M.Barrie was writing a diary, an excerpt from which was the opening of today's blog. His words on war made me sit up and take note. Headachy thoughts indeed, beautiful, and all in regards to something that was as far removed from the poetic tones which he communicated in. I will aim to read more of J.M.Barrie. There is a Lost Boys book somewhere.
There are those who love him more than I, The Unicorn Diaries. rants and raves, stating, "He was true. The truest of the true. If True were a land, he would rule it as King". She herself has something you should all see and read. A diary / blog which makes you want to dim the lights a little, and speak, if required, with a hush, a whisper. She has a set on flickr of Tim Walker which has also caught my eye, that's today's image. Enough from me, I am rambling. To finish, another quote from Barrie, "The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." He wasn't all fairies and Neverneverland.
We had all been seated for some time. A gang, a band of awkwardness Some of us with hands grasping mugs, the contents of which were now cold., others had their hands clamped under their thighs, rocking slowly, glancing upward, anywhere but toward the action, the commotion. Joseph and Susan were at each others throats yet again. It didn't matter to them that everyone in the room bearing witness to this, the most epic of all their public arguments, were praying they were elsewhere. In fact we were being dragged into the midst of the slur. Fingers were pointing, flaws being flaunted and previous indiscretions scoffed at and used like emotional ammo.
Coffee in the park, walks home from the club, lifts to yoga. They were using their friends as listeners, confidents and drivers, that is all. I was growing tired. Tonight was no different. Only ten minutes ago I had my hand, the one now lacking blood as it remained unmoved under my thigh, on Jospeh's shoulder, "She loves you man, that's not what this is about, she is in love with you.” My thoughts were interrupted as a copy of Turbo Magazine, once an innocent bystander on the coffee table was thrown into the midst, striking me across the face. "Sorry, that was aimed at Joseph", said Susan politely. She could be so beautifully mean.
There were eight of us left, frozen to our stools, chairs and floorboards, scared to make the move towards the door. It had all come out; all that we knew as individuals was now open to the group. We all knew Joseph had stopped loving her, we all knew that he was trying to get out of it all, what most of us now called, 'The Laters', part-time lovers, part-time haters.
It was then I stood. I was up before I knew what was going on. Electrelane's 'To The East' was playing in my head, I didn't mind that no-one else could hear it, it was my soundtrack. I lunged forward, grabbed Colleen and kissed her. Electrelane stopped. My eyes opened. Susan and Joseph had stopped. Colleen's eyes were sparkling. I had always loved her and tonight, seeing my friends kept prisoner by hate, hearing my own soundtrack and knowing I was fed up hearing it alone, being slapped across the face physically and emotionally, I woke up. It was time to grab what was right, do the things you knew all along you were meant to do and stop making the unworkable work. "It shouldn't be like this." I was being bold, forthright. Nikki and the gang were with me, as was Colleen. We walked away, down the steep steps out front into the rain. My red cardigan was leaking pink onto my white button up and Colleen's hair was stuck to her perfect face, wrapped around her big brown eyes like a moveable malleable frame. How could so much hate start so much love I thought? I was interrupted, I was being kissed. I moved the frame with my hands.
Monday mornings, it's never easy to rise and shine, I've always found a good episode of Good Morning World does the trick. It's the best way to spend those four minutes you usually spend pretending you're getting up. Watch it.
Sean Batchelor says that he is not a writer, but his short, entitled 'Dim light in the middle of a Summer day' was rather good. His blog is well presented with lots of images going on, perfect stalking material, it has that personal touch, you know.
You know what makes me love design, it's the simple aspects. Not the grand, over the top elaborate stuff, it's the people who sit down and make the most mundane of objects great. Case in point is Dylan Freeth's Dovetail salt and pepper. Beautiful.
Many years ago, Yokoland created some great exhibitions, a great deal of which involved woods, and the use of manmade structures, often made from cardboard and brightly coloured, placed throughout the natural scene. I came across Andy Callahan's work, which reminds me a lot of Yokoland, but as the later seems to have dropped off the face of the earth (website is out of date) I will use Callahan as my image, from his project, No One Knows Where We Go.
I never thought I would create my own book week, but there it was. Expect a few more dotted around in the next while. Back to blogging. Aya Padrón has me captivated, "Having always been very shy, I'm drawn to photography because it offers an alternative way of speaking, one that is visual and wordless. My intuition as a photographer is to celebrate and emphasize this quietness, calling attention to ordinary scenes and objects that in silence possess more magic."
Going through the books I love this week I was stirred up, I thought about just how much I would love to create a book of my own. Hardback, small, plain. What would I put in it? Now there's a thought. A novel? A work of non-fiction? Maybe a collection of all that I hold dear, all that I have seen, all that I have come to realise? I think I should set this idea high on a shelf. A shelf which I will dust off in a decade or two. It would allow for a great deal more content, that's for sure.
I talked a while back about Savannah, and how I would quite like to visit. Sarah Neuburger of The Small Object says of it "It's an amazingly beautiful place with all the quirky small city charms." I think her blog will suffice for my easter link, it's full of eggs and such.
Tedious link time, and while eggs come from chickens, milk comes from cows, which brings me nicely to this image from Ottok Photography. I found this site through Padrón's links, spend a while there yourself. Be fruitful. I love this moment that has been captured. How many cows can you see?
Saturday saturday counting cows, a walk, come to grips, mud on knees, caked and hard by the end of the day. Cheeks scored and red, brambles adding holes to clothes, once you're in ankle deep the water doesn't seem so cold. Allow it to envelope, forget streets and quarters and meters and stores. Remember the vastness, be sure to not agree to do it again. Do not arrange it, arrangement will be the death of it. Plead for the rain to rinse you clean, and home in time for fires or towels. This I promise on your return, will occur, but I say it again, do not arrange it. Did I arrange it? In my attempts to sell it? Do not arrange, arrangement will be the death of it.
"I know what conscience is, to begin with. It is not what you told me it was. It is the divinest thing in us. Don't sneer at it, Harry, any more-at least not before me. I want to be good. I can't bear the idea of my soul being hideous."Oscar Wilde is a cliche, I admit it, yet I am not here to avoid cliches, rather I am here to tell you my favourite books, and well, The Picture of Dorian Gray is one of them.
There are so many things written about Wilde, and so many thoughts related to this, his first published novel, some of which delve deep into meanings and break apart what I see merely as a great novel. Of course Wilde had his own agenda, and no doubt he has sneaked in as much of that as he can, but we can of course leave that at the wayside and press on with the story. If you haven't read it I'd recommend it, as they say, it's a classic. In 1891, when the revised version came out it caused quite a stir, and as well it might as even today it's a must read.
The basic plot centers around a young man, Dorian Gray, who has been blessed with looks so handsome, he attracts the attention of an artist, Basil Hallward. Gray has his portrait painted and is so caught up in how he looks that he wishes for that portrait to bear the signs of age rather than himself, and so the plot thickens. I have searched high and low for my copy of this book, to take some pictures, but I cannot find it, which has me annoyed, because after recounting it I wanted to read it again. It's been a while. So I was left with a choice, what images should I use. In 1945, for a film adaption by Albert Lewin, Ivan Albright created 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'. There are some fantastic images from Life magazine of this process.
"With audiences, I think you just hope for the best. I don't really know anything more than that. Sometimes people like it, and sometimes they don't. If something you've created makes you feel something, you have to have faith that it has that potential for other people." Jeff Tweedy.
The other books which have and will make my list are personal. They are books which I have found covered in dust, have read to all hours of the morning, or have come to me at a time when I needed to read them or see them. The next book, perhaps, will one day sit among the others, but for now, it's a rising star. I never purchased it, I was never given it as a present, I didn't even happen upon it. I have rather, in a strange way, inherited it. It's simply called 'The Wilco Book', and is 163 pages of photography, lyrics, sheet music, handwriting, diary entries, essays, thoughts and poetry. It sounds rather muddled, and I suppose it is, but when it's in your hands it works, oh so well.
It contains, amongst other things, words from Wilco manager Tony Margherita, some poems from Ben Porter, photography from Michael Schmelling and artwork by Fred Tomaselli. I love the snippets from Tweedy, like that above, and the diarys of them on tour. The details of the instruments and the how-to's of production.
Here is a great live video from the Wilco boys, enjoy. There is some more info about the book, here, including a bit about the cd which is in the back, containing previously unreleased 'experimental music'.
08/04/09 Book week - C.S Lewis
Apart from the small, now yellow and dog-eared label on the spine, this little black book contains no clues as to what lies within. I have owned several copies, but none as cherished at this one. It's plain and undesirable exterior, the large roman numerals depicting each letter / chapter, the quote printed off center inside from Thomas More, "The Devil..the prowde spirite..cannot endure to be mocked." What is the book I hear you ask? Well it began as a running piece in 'The Guardian' and was first published in 1942. It is dedicated to J.R.R. Tolkien. It's Christian satire of the highest calibre, written by one of the 20th Century's greatest writers, a book which to some is merely a work of fiction, to others, rather closer to the truth. It's C.S. Lewis' 'The Screwtape Letters'
This version, printed as one of the first copies in 1942 I found, like yesterday's pair, in an old second hand bookstore. I remember the walk home, with it under my arm in a brown paper bag, a grin so wide, a bargain. Ever since I first read this series of letters, from senior demon, Uncle Screwtape to trainee Nephew, Wormwood I was captured, not only by the sheer content and storyline, but the boldness of Lewis and his unashamed desire to communicate in which ever way he saw fit, in this case a fictional book, his beliefs to a duly conservative nation, albeit a predominately Christian one.
Regardless of what people think of the motive behind this book, the composition and idea was way before its time. C.S. Lewis will always be one of my favourite authors, a truly great writer. I bought a book of his literature philosophy and short stories a while back, it was an interesting read, but nothing compared to this 160 page gem.
07/04/09 Book week - Shakespeare
You can throw the kitchen sink at me, I'll defend today's choice. Although if you had asked me at the age of 15/16 what I thought of Willy Shakespeare any description uttered would have been beyond the water-shed. School never did Shakespeare justice. A few years ago I set it upon myself to delve back into his works, just to clarify what all the fuss was about, then quickly forgot all about it. It was a few weeks later, while hunting around in an old second-hand book store that I came across these, hidden away. Macbeth, which I studied in school, and The Tempest. I snapped them up. The first link is towards Blackadder's take on Macbeth and the dreaded mentioning of it in certain circles, the second is of a beautiful image, fitting for The Tempest.
This version of The Tempest dates back to the turn of the century, while the copy of Macbeth was published in the 1800's. I know I know, it's the same text no matter the date of the copy, but there is something special about the smell of these old two, coupled with the content, the notes, scrawled in fine pencil by dear knows who, and dear knows when. I remember reading them on train rides to and from university, and being lost in them. I will always cherish them, for it was thanks to them that I realised why Shakespeare has been placed on such a pedestal, and why he was deserving of it.
I've wanted to have a themed week for a while, a little structure never hurt anyone. I thought I would take this week to share with you a few of the books which I own and love. Perhaps I will describe how I came to own them. We shall see. Anyways, today will be the first of five, as long as I don't run out of steam that is.
I spent three years of my life working part-time in an independent fashion store in England. It was quite the experience. High-end brands, clients and great buying trips to fashion capitals. It was while working there that I first heard of Freitag, and where I first picked up today's book.
I'm sure if you read the blog a bit you'll have heard me mention these Swiss based truck tarp bag makers the Freitag brothers. Here is a little history incase you've no inkling. I fell in love with their ideas to create individual bags from a used substance. Plus, once you own one you'll never own another bag. Truly. They are amazing. Versatile, durable and quirky. They of course are old news now, and have been around since 1993, but what's great about Freitag is that they keeping pushing. The new products on offer are so innovative, yet simple and current. The Macbook air sleeve and ipod touch are obvious examples.
The book itself is heavy, bound with tarp and crammed with owners, random images and insights into the process of making these awesome pieces. Some pages have a very Swiss feel, which I like. Sticking to their roots and all that. The mountains feature heavily.
They ran a feature in this version, I think they bring out a new one annually, which comprised of those who own the bags etc taking a picture of their one off bag, as well as a picture of themselves infront of their fridge. They also have included page after page of images of the bags, all grouped together into colours, green, yellow, blue, red. Each bag is sold with a tag, complete with a picture of it on the cutting table, as well as a little note from the guy / girl who cut the bag by hand. Ain't that thoughtful.
What I love most about this book is that there is just so much in it, that no matter how many times I have lifted it, I have spied something new. Be it a bag I'd never caught a glance of with a particularly individual design, a quote which never rang true before, an image which creates one of the many collages or just the typography and composition throughout. Even if you are not a fan of the Freitag brand, I wager this book would keep you amused, educate you and get your creative mind racing.
How great is that picture? I don't think the keyboard is dead just yet, but one day Paul Chan will have been ahead of the game. He was featured on vvork recently, give it your eyes. I give it mine.
I saw a few of these new phone masts in France, I wasn't impressed. Does anyone have these eyesores near them? Give me a grey metal mast. Anyways, that's not all I observed while taking in the Parisian air. I fell in love with the Jardin du Luxembourg, it's amazing to me how cultures clash. In the UK / Ireland metal chairs would be lifted, kept, thrown in rivers mishapen and painted, yet here they sit day after day, just used as seats, and sometimes a card table.
There is lots going on in Paris these days, as you can imagine. Andy Warhol's work is all over the place thanks to the current exhibition at the Grand Palais, comprising of the largest collection of his portraits, and there is a Tag graffiti exhibition on too. I managed to get a few good shots of the later with my last few polaroids, keep an eye out, i'll get scanning.
Lastly I wanted to draw your attention to this Spitting image clip, oh how things come around. I was reminded of it after seeing the French version, Les Guignols while in Paris. The French are doing it well, I managed to catch a whole episode one night. I can only pick up a pieces of it, I'm not fluent, however from what I could gather it's on the mark, therefore funny. Plus it messes with your head, are they real, are they puppets, who knows.
Today I have been intrigued by the phrase ‘fin de siècle’. I came across it here, while looking at some work by William Hoggatt, a Manx artist who only created work derived from Manx subjects. His self-portrait, here, is a favourite of mine. I searched a bit, and found a Tate Modern description too.
The phrase literally means ‘end of the century’ and was used in this instance to describe the time frame during which Hoggatt was prevalent, i.e. the turn of the 19th century. The author of the description, which accompanies the painting, says of the portrait, “What it does do is provide a small insight into the artistic world of the Fin de siècle, where everyone lived for the moment unaffected by the momentous changes to come.” I thought it strange that anyone could think such an attitude was confined to just one decade around the change of a century. Fin de siècle is as active today, in more then just artists, then ever before.
Other Manx artists I came across today include Franz Hoepfner | John Holland | Ralph Courtie
The hidden track. A waste of time, a commercial gimmick or a treat, hidden away? It really depends on the song and artist in question, but on the whole I’m a fan. I thought I’d tell you a few of my favourites which I have fallen for over the years.
Kings of Leon - Holy Roller Novocaine
- Youth &
Young Manhood + 8.20 - Talihina Sky
The Libertines - What Became Of The
Likely Lads
– The libertines + 3.25 - France
Turin Brakes - Rain City –
Ether song + 7.44 -
Ether song
The image today came from Stas Aki's labels project, simple, but the colours are great.
Let’s try an outdoor blog. The sun is beating down from above and at last I feel heat, natural heat. The air is still and I can almost see the plants stretch out and rejoice. They are not alone.
The San Francisco Collage Collective have quite the site, and subsequently, as their name suggests, quite a collection. Collage after collage, some simple, and ironically so, others intricate and pretty. Then there are those that come with more then just a title, but rather a whole history lesson. Hannah Höch’s work, for me, could be anywhere today.The cover of a culture magazine, at a bus stop selling Levi Jeans. A female artist, a founder of Dada in Berlin and a nifty dresser by the looks of it, she was before her time.
I managed to find time to drop by the Temple Bar art gallery last week; John Duncan’s now aged Bonfires exhibition was on show. It of course carries all the political weight you want it to, or they are just pictures. Regardless he has done well in his choice to present them pre-burning, and I am glad he has documented their construction so poignantly, because I know in a few years they will have been banned, and believe it or not they are a part of Northern Irish culture which needs remembering, even if we remember to forget.
Incidently the image today came from here. Not even sure how I stumbled on this one, but it's a keeper. Speaking of which, Apple Surprise anyone?