tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74530206960370868972024-03-12T18:47:35.546-07:00Wandering the Dream SpaceFrangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-48518677860477228682012-06-17T08:43:00.001-07:002012-06-17T08:43:08.862-07:00Large Late Forms<br />
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I woke up yesterday morning to<a data-mce-href="http://abstractcritical.com/2012/06/henry-moore-late-large-forms-at-gagosian-kings-cross/" href="http://abstractcritical.com/2012/06/henry-moore-late-large-forms-at-gagosian-kings-cross/" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(229, 229, 229); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: black; font-style: inherit; line-height: 1.5; text-decoration: none;"> this</a> article on Abstract Critical about the current Henry Moore exhibition at the Britannia Street Gagosian. A scathing and cynical review of what the writer described as an exhibition of 'turds on a plaza.' I decided that, despite the review, I had to go see it.</div>
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<span data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="font-style: inherit; line-height: 1.5;"> I grew up not far from Perry Green and so I am familiar with Moore's super-natural forms rising out of green fields and grazing sheep. My curiosity for the exhibition came from a desire to see them transplanted into a white cube setting. </span></div>
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I have an uneasy relationship with Henry Moore and so I don't blame John Holland for his disparaging review; there are times when I feel disgust at the largeness of Moore's public sculptures created by a team of assistants, or I see him held up for comparison with Picasso and feel only despair. None of these things are critical or relevant in the case of Gagosian's Large Late Forms. This is the art world's version of a magic trick and its effect negates any intellectual reaction with an intense and surreal sensation of awe.</div>
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Moore's sculptures (or should we call them monuments? They feel much bigger than sculptures) have a powerful relationship to negative space; their form originates in the odd, weathered holes of found flints, the loops and hoops and handles which make one piece of rock a natural sculpture while others are not.</div>
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In the fields these holes become viewfinders, shifting with the rhythms of the Hertfordshire landscape. In the matt white and shiny grey of Gagosian there is no comparable feature on the landscape, they look entirely alien, beached, stranded in the strikingly unfamiliar.</div>
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The best works here are the biggest, they only grow larger in the gallery space. They are suddenly more impressive, restless even, like giants bent under low roofs. The exhibition is exciting if only for that giddyingly odd sensation of seeing Moore's Large Late Forms in a contemporary gallery. Our instinct is always to touch these giants, as Moore intended, but everyone is cautious here. The quiet reverence, the gallery attendants dressed like bouncers in black, all make me wonder if it is still acceptable.</div>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img alt="Image" class="size-full wp-image aligncenter alignleft" data-mce-src="http://thepilgrimages.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/img_0800.jpg?w=487" height="365" src="http://thepilgrimages.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/img_0800.jpg?w=487" style="border: 0px; cursor: default; display: block; float: left; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: -webkit-auto;" width="487" /></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-20690596974165761162012-01-20T04:34:00.000-08:002012-01-22T07:19:37.777-08:00Gert & Uwe Tobias- Maureen Paley<p>When I get to Maureen Paley in Bethnal Green for the last day of Gert & Uwe Tobias' exhibition there is only me, and a couple with a bicycle wheel each, in the gallery. I have come to see the solo exhibition of the Transylvanian twins after seeing their woodcuts in the Saatchi Gallery's Gesamtkunstwerk exhibition.<br /><a href="http://flaneur.me.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/gertuwe2.jpg"></a><br /><br />The Tobias brothers work with a number of traditional media, almost abandoned to the folklore of artistic practice; woodcuts, typography and ceramics. But although they have honoured the luxury of all these techniques there is nothing more certain at Maureen Paley than their contemporaneity. The colours they print with are almost like nothing I have ever seen before, but remind me of the photocopy foil, Omnicrom. A typewriter is hammered at obsessively to make a typographic portrait which recalls, but is distinctly more eloquent than, a piece of computing code. Totemic ceramic creatures are enshrined in gallery corners or hanging from the ceiling.<br /></p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3dkU2aYDBhmdcYMqhZ7sBLcxTIfZhA8wa8qHrjQf_X4-U0BMXAS7TcexkRZ0ZFpFfO26rTXyN5H1dq63RLjwwlr2uqkCMapWh_hNMFToqxxt47_iraPKItgorBBwxfLaDDNSFg81dbMEc/s1600/gert%2526uwe2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698211663554875634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3dkU2aYDBhmdcYMqhZ7sBLcxTIfZhA8wa8qHrjQf_X4-U0BMXAS7TcexkRZ0ZFpFfO26rTXyN5H1dq63RLjwwlr2uqkCMapWh_hNMFToqxxt47_iraPKItgorBBwxfLaDDNSFg81dbMEc/s400/gert%2526uwe2.jpg" /></a> The twins have described their work as having an 'opulence', indeed, even the dusky-dark portraits look as though they could be salvage from a water-damaged old stately home. But the opulence is really in the magnificent stretches of woodcut canvases; an opulence of labour, of colour (which does not belong to paint, but to the richer otherworldly texture of printing), of patterned gold leaf and of the fabulous creatures of imagination and myth.</p><br /><p>The sense of play is important. I watch a video interview on Youtube where the cutting of the footage deliberately distorts our ability to distinguish between the identical pair. There is no sense of their individuation; one twin works on the left of the studio, the other on the right. Like conspiring children, the Tobias Twins delight in the labyrinthine twists and turns of their own game.<br /></p><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQKqe_p0YxQKrqfwfTt85gxx3fKT9NUDwEWDVrzQ-sBCnFxYwWytVBR_x18uWQLEsXTB9Fjpv6Csd78lJP1DYFcTPg1VH6Vg5r035JUVbkJOApvPSpp0UZGSPZ9CxI_wlUI8o-VrqM650/s1600/Gert%2526uwe3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698209408882421906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQKqe_p0YxQKrqfwfTt85gxx3fKT9NUDwEWDVrzQ-sBCnFxYwWytVBR_x18uWQLEsXTB9Fjpv6Csd78lJP1DYFcTPg1VH6Vg5r035JUVbkJOApvPSpp0UZGSPZ9CxI_wlUI8o-VrqM650/s400/Gert%2526uwe3.jpg" /></a><br />It may not be immediately obvious, but the Tobias twins have even manipulated the gallery space; painting the walls a rich, magnificent blue, with white lines which divide woodcuts and picture frames. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>In the collages new beings and unidentifiable narratives are created from the assemblage of kitschy cut-outs. There is a phantasmagoria of repeating imagery; duck beaks, bird heads, moths and other insects, pendulous limbs and heads. If there seems to be a plot to follow in the giant story boards of their woodcuts, the viewer is unable to trace it because of its disorientating unfamiliarity.<a href="http://flaneur.me.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/gertuwe5.jpg"></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>How delicious, for a pair of identical Transylvanian twins to make work about folklore and myth. Suddenly it is possible to believe in dark woods in the mountains of Brasov, Romania, where vampires live and little girls in red caps lure wolves back to their grandmothers. I desperately want to find a book of fairytales illustrated by Gert & Uwe Tobias at the end of the exhibition; perhaps it is this longing which is the lingering symptom of their art work. I want in on their world. No matter how nightmarishly atmospheric, there is an enchanting beauty beneath the surface.<br /><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_jqOE7vh97ZAdB7I42S5IdTJVJ7bCpm2byhdl2AdSc882jhe6m8c-P0QxEn46SccLi5nR2UnCIxS2S5WXKIGyAsmG-ifqrnEtciNJB7az8JAhSxFaxxOuakM_DJYeUaeV4J9PNTZ0JN7/s1600/gert%2526uwe5.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698209162479030338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_jqOE7vh97ZAdB7I42S5IdTJVJ7bCpm2byhdl2AdSc882jhe6m8c-P0QxEn46SccLi5nR2UnCIxS2S5WXKIGyAsmG-ifqrnEtciNJB7az8JAhSxFaxxOuakM_DJYeUaeV4J9PNTZ0JN7/s400/gert%2526uwe5.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-76408100301293887782012-01-17T10:14:00.000-08:002012-01-17T10:18:01.846-08:00Daniel Kelly, Pirates of Carthage, 17th, 23rd and 24th JanuaryThis is a copy of an interview I wrote for <a href="http://www.flaneur.me.uk/">www.flaneur.me.uk</a><br /><br />This week, after almost a year of work, Daniel Kelly’s play The Pirates of Carthage will finally make it out of the studio and onto the radio waves before moving to the stage at The Nellie Dean in Soho next week.<br /><br />I go to meet Daniel Kelly in his Bow Road studio in the East of London. Newly moved in, with a couple of artist friends, the space is still sparse although it has got a newly built mezzanine. Kelly is tall, he’s wearing a fuzzy Russian hat, and a slightly paint bespattered tartan jacket with a silky scarf. He looks appropriately arty, but then it’s also a ploy to keep warm. With jasmine tea, and a heater between us, we begin to chat about The Pirates of Carthage.<br /><br />This is ‘A play about Tunisia, Twitter and the power of the people’. But to describe it simply as a play is a little misleading, as Kelly explains; he is primarily a visual artist and this hasn’t been about leaving all that behind to become a writer. The Pirates of Carthage would be more accurately described as a multimedia artistic project; an interactive series of performances across media, based on a collage of tweets, quotations from Gustave Flaubert’s Salammbo, Tunisian hip-hop, and a video montage of internet surveillance. On Thursday 12th January at 8pm a live interactive radio performance will be broadcast on Resonance FM (resonancefm.com/listen), on the 14th there will be a live streaming (frenchriveria1988.com, 4.30pm), and from the 16th there will be performances at the Nellie Dean in Soho.<br /><br />Kelly sees his new project as having roots in his earlier practice of collaging in painting. The artistic development involved in The Pirates of Carthage, from painter to multimedia artist, was necessary in order to respond to Kelly’s inspiration; the powerful utilization of Twitter during the Tunisian uprising which led to the overthrow of the prime minister in January last year. Perhaps like many people, Kelly watched the Tunisian people revolting via Twitter in awe. Feeling the need to respond he began by taking photographs from the newspapers and working them into paintings, but this seemed too simple. He had to use the tweets at the centre of the story, and it was essential that they were read aloud. Flaubert’s Salammbo, which is included as excerpts from an audio tape, adds historical resonance to our sense of the significance of the recent uprising.<br /><br />The demands of the project have forced Kelly to become a playwright, a producer, to collaborate with aDirector and actors, with Tunisians and activists, and to become a brilliant self-publicist and galvanizer of willing friends. And what kind of a manager has he been? ‘I’m usually quite a relaxed person but I have found myself getting quite stressed at rehearsals. So now, I don’t have a coffee beforehand, I’m trying to be more calm.’<br /><br />There is a lot of Kelly in the project. If you go to the Nellie Dean you’ll find in the introductory visuals, the eye of the artist staring back at you. By filming his screen as he used the internet and layering this into a video montage, Kelly sifts through the accessible data of the web; BBC News, newspapers, Youtube videos of Glee asking ‘Who Run the World’?, and soft porn, until we gradually see him focusing in on the Tunisian conflict; images of Sidi Bouzid, news stories, twitter feeds. Kelly says he had to ask himself who ‘was I to be making a political work about the Tunisian conflict?’ But the video demonstrates that we all have access to this public history, and that the internet and Kelly’s play are powerful ways of understanding it.<br /><br />The whole journey and artistic process has been documented on Twitter. In fact when I check on my way home a new update reads ‘Just done an interview for @flaneurzine buzzzzzzzin’ with the obligatory #pcarthage.<br /><br />Kelly’s play has been devised from the archives of the Tunisian conflict’s history on Twitter, and now Kelly’s play in turn has its own digital, trackable, archive. With a kind of essential circularity Kelly pays tribute to his work’s genesis by hashtagging ‘ #sidibouzid and connecting himself back to the conception of the conflict. Of the original Tweeters; Kacem4, has created and managed the project’s blog, and a Guardian commentator will now be in the performance. This is a homage, above all, to the awe the uprising instilled in people.<br /><br />If Kelly has an ambition, it is that his work can honour the original sense of collaboration and community, to prove Twitter to be as significant an artistic tool as it is political. He doesn’t believe that artists are particularly engaged with technology; they aren’t exploiting, as Kelly has, the potential of platforms such as Twitter. ‘We didn’t use the internet when I was at school’ perhaps it is only now ‘that a new generation of technologically-engaged artists is emerging.’ With a glitter in his eye, it’s exciting to think that he might be one of the first.<br /><br />At the end of the Resonance FM streaming, the audience can interact by tweeting, and Kelly hopes that many of these will come from Tunisia. With any luck #pcarthage will also be trending. He likes the idea that it will be the Twitter archive, and not the book he is producing, which will survive for posterity and represent the legacy of The Pirates of Carthage. The play proves that what we so frequently see as the ‘disposable’ ‘throwaway’ comments on Twitter are actually far more concrete and lasting; ‘perhaps in years to come the internet will seem more real than any of the physical relics of our time and historians will be looking at Twitter.’<br /><br />Radio Performance- 12th January, 8.00pm (GMT) 104.4fm resonancefm.com/listen<br />Live Stream- 14th January, 4.30pm frenchriveria1988.com<br />Play- 16, 17, 23 and 24 January, 7.30pm. The Nellie Dean of Soho, tickets 5 pounds (80 Dean Street, W1D 3SU)<br />Artist Talk- 21 January, 7.00pm<br />ticket booking: <a href="http://frenchriviera1988.com/">frenchriviera1988.com</a><br /><a href="mailto:pcarthage@gmail.com/">pcarthage@gmail.com</a><br />piratesofcarthage.wordpress.comfacebook.com/pcarthageFrangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-22245314422275117402012-01-02T02:00:00.000-08:002012-01-02T05:15:14.522-08:00The Peripatetic School: Itinerant drawing from Latin America<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFG-WT2PZOqZiuppAoW6DE51n0hUK17TyErL7lJ1zmSJy2OCTGIWf0z5_ZgAnLY-jjJ1bDclvQZzQTVZBI8ujSa7aF3y1a18BiRI0UyUB_s-u4w16PjyDav5jN6utfU45VK9E3O7y8Fuid/s1600/itinerant+school+4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692999535595236354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFG-WT2PZOqZiuppAoW6DE51n0hUK17TyErL7lJ1zmSJy2OCTGIWf0z5_ZgAnLY-jjJ1bDclvQZzQTVZBI8ujSa7aF3y1a18BiRI0UyUB_s-u4w16PjyDav5jN6utfU45VK9E3O7y8Fuid/s400/itinerant+school+4.jpg" /></a> Ishmael Randall Weeks, Fragments 2011, Mixed Media Installation</div><br /><br /><div align="center">The Drawing Room is a small gallery stranded in Bermondsey (although the opening of the new White Cube might suggest it won't be stranded for long). It is a 15 minute walk from the tube station through suburbs and housing estates, but you must not let doubt creep in. When I eventually find it, the converted Drawing Room factory stands in the deserted centre of an industrial complex, it seems to have no entrance. I circle the building in silence and begin to think I have been led to the biggest prank in the art world.</div><br /><br /><div align="center">You have to ring a bell and someone will come to let you in. The Drawing Room is the Tate Modern's cooler little brother; subsidiary projects which are far too niche to grace the walls of Gilbert Scott's epic factory, but which, without the support of their rich elder sister would surely die. In ways that other galleries can't, The Drawing Room just gets to have fun, and The Peripatetic School's Latin American artists are the best example of this. </div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFq6yRJUYJwtNkrRCtmgmscEDPx1LUNaOOa37Vkvhz-SEIb787MWC5ohooc8tjSDlW5b3qHE4TNzqFTo3KExDMMy5dCFTgeIXzDTd320b-dqqxBGm4t5c4OJfhDFVv7Ci17HMWa7kCbUK7/s1600/itinerant+school.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668985032795220498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFq6yRJUYJwtNkrRCtmgmscEDPx1LUNaOOa37Vkvhz-SEIb787MWC5ohooc8tjSDlW5b3qHE4TNzqFTo3KExDMMy5dCFTgeIXzDTd320b-dqqxBGm4t5c4OJfhDFVv7Ci17HMWa7kCbUK7/s400/itinerant+school.jpg" /></a> Tony Cruz, Distance Drawing San Juan/ London, an attempt to draw the distance from San Juan to London (6,751.2362m). Realised only 0.0031890 percent (2,153m) 2011, Dibujo Distancia<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center">Latin American art is obsessively peripatetic, concerned with the landscape, both urban and rural and the things we might find in travelling, or the things we might take with us. Brigida Baltar's works <em>Untitled</em> and <em>Sertao's Flora</em> use earth as their primary material; Sertao's grip upon Baltar's artwork is as more than just a place of origins and imagination. Her paintings of the Flora of her home town are delicate, nostalgic earth works. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">There is a polemic in this exhibition. Drawing, so frequently the medium of peripheral sketchbook studies, has powerful energy and movement and is used here in challenging ways. Nicholas Paris'<em> Hurry Slowly</em> is a series of drawings and cut-outs of a running man which incorporate a number of found objects; the heel of a shoe, a piece of driftwood, a spirograph. Totems which rest on a shelf below the drawings. Testaments to our attachment to objects, but also their portability, both imaginatively and physically. Each object changes the drawing; it's texture and its mobility. Our sense of the speed at which the figure hurries is modulated by its object.</div><br /><div align="left"><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk5xgeXMVkgXx9giwHLzj0c2F7Zgw2wwgvRSru6WeHxPqh4V4Rm06HFrIzg4nPuWQy_8vIr9a9uVjSAuRVX9mqYnf4PeNFLiHnlkQYDysIR97EMt08G0vTuMWN1Fa_wdza2nWZrwD13R4U/s1600/itinerant+school2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668984893577591394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk5xgeXMVkgXx9giwHLzj0c2F7Zgw2wwgvRSru6WeHxPqh4V4Rm06HFrIzg4nPuWQy_8vIr9a9uVjSAuRVX9mqYnf4PeNFLiHnlkQYDysIR97EMt08G0vTuMWN1Fa_wdza2nWZrwD13R4U/s400/itinerant+school2.jpg" /></a> Mateo Lopez, Nowhere Man 2011, Mixed Media Installation<br /><br />'Drawing has always been the most portable medium' claims the exhibition blurb. Tony Cruz's Distance Drawing, a pencil drawing made directly onto the wall of the old factory, is like the automatic scribblings of a seismograph. It feels like the obsessive scribblings of an artist desperate to record; and yet its obvious portability destroys the illusion. How many times will the unfinished drawing be reproduced, and how is it transported between galleries, from wall to wall?<br /><br />The installations of Mateo Lopez and Ishmael Randall Weeks look as though they could be packed up and carried away. Lopez's Nowhere Man is a temporary home with desk drawers filled with maps, and more suggestive materials scattered about than can be processed in a single viewing. But the overall sense is of its emptiness. Randall Weeks' <em>Fragments</em> is my pick of the whole exhibition; an architect's table of sketches and plans, towards a Utopia? But once again it has been abandoned, stranded in Bermondsey.<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center">You might arrive to find the space empty, but treasure it all the more. The Drawing Room is doing really exciting things with its factory. The Peripatetic School is an intellectually engaging exhibition. The white bricks walls like blank paper, let these displaced drawings speak for themselves, and what they have to say is filled with energy and itinerant creativity.</div><br /><br /><div align="center">The exhibition will be at Mima in Middlesborough until the 12th February 2012.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-30349703812665053672011-12-23T11:32:00.000-08:002011-12-23T06:35:16.622-08:00A Poetry of Light<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vol1HoqAMfwdYyNnEKgsLyAjCuByH2F18nswTrU8QpqODk2OQn8Rs7sGqT1IhCFHCYq4ZMadpujHJcn8lVp2r-YX8yudDZTNOtGGxqtDltJy5STnRLQ8a8CDmgnqI6sLi6cJbM4Mj0bG/s1600/tacita+dean+4.jpg"></a>If it becomes necessary at the end of the year to become retrospective, then it is Tacita Dean's colossal film in the Turbine Hall of the Tate Modern that I will choose for my meditative space. This reel of flickering light is what I will picture in my mind's eye as I reflect upon the year of art.<br /><br />The year has ended with a confessional of denouncers of video-art; Charles Saatchi dismissed it in his attack on the art world, and Waldemar Januszczak added 'please no more video art' to his Christmas wishlist, using Dean's giant film as the most irksome example of all.<br /><br />And yet for me Dean's film is a beautiful tribute to a passion for her medium. Pure visual luxury. A poetry of light. A series of hypnotic images spliced together, saturating and shifting through filters. Uniquely accessible above all, not elaborately conceptualised or filled with the cold intellectualism which makes video art only briefly bearable. There is only a soft murmur above the film's visual soundtrack and tones of silence. The delicious hush of a captive audience.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHa6D8_e1ZvltJ8OsWawB77Leye_KLITHdpDmXRTHjd-Nvo6p3vJNGuWWReBE92yuPLM89hRRp5zblt_7VlCwuAgOcfwe96KFHQK8GBs-v7NJmlHLb5BYrv3cTLuJuJzNpiOdq-3aK1YV/s1600/tacita+dean3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668984465290233362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHa6D8_e1ZvltJ8OsWawB77Leye_KLITHdpDmXRTHjd-Nvo6p3vJNGuWWReBE92yuPLM89hRRp5zblt_7VlCwuAgOcfwe96KFHQK8GBs-v7NJmlHLb5BYrv3cTLuJuJzNpiOdq-3aK1YV/s400/tacita+dean3.jpg" /></a><br />In the Turbine Hall, dark except for the warm, drowsy luxuriance of Dean's video, there is something of the cinema. People sit on the floor in perfect silhouettes. Children totter up to the screen only to be shooed away again. The best manifestations of the Turbine commission are about interaction, have the power to transform the vacuous space into theatre and theme park.<br /><br />It has the melancholy of obituary about it; Dean is painfully aware that her medium is dying even as she celebrates its richest qualities. Yet there is a joyous buoyance too; growth and regeneration, giant balls float gently in the Turbine Hall. The Turbine Hall projected onto the Turbine Hall, seems like a generous thank you to the commission itself.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwA5eRqcdos5hsF_xOyIfMH5IHPfL_G0-vHKq_v4lsh7CqskZ8ZA4c2qgIZhsoIIRLuzX_mHlx-MIbIrpvC9wcOfmRzRjydPxggOFEYBGvookfSNYmdPtaXLSEsFzErDSmoLHXglSbDTjh/s1600/Tacita+dean.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668984271000615986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwA5eRqcdos5hsF_xOyIfMH5IHPfL_G0-vHKq_v4lsh7CqskZ8ZA4c2qgIZhsoIIRLuzX_mHlx-MIbIrpvC9wcOfmRzRjydPxggOFEYBGvookfSNYmdPtaXLSEsFzErDSmoLHXglSbDTjh/s400/Tacita+dean.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Waldemar ends his Christmas wish list by requesting that at least, there will be a time limit imposed upon video art of 2 minutes maximum. But I sit on the cold floor letting Dean's visual poetry wash over me like the cascades of the waterfall in the film. I could give all my time to its entrancing assault on my senses. For me Dean's films is one of those legendary Turbine commissions, like Ai Weiwei's sunflower seeds or Carsten Holler's slide, that I will always be able to say that I saw. It is a lyrical affirmation of the importance of video art in a year of dissent.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-721273395265689922011-11-06T04:26:00.000-08:002011-11-06T06:45:42.383-08:00TreasureI am not going to make this another lament about the decline of my blog. Today I went to my favourite charity shop and found treasure.<br />'For surely they are not only lovely pictures of fragments of a lovely creation, they are patterns of things we all know if we have ever really lived: they are Figures of the True.'<br />'one never knows where a book may wander'<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5VYETlLPq84A9na56yGQl93z3vH7iZlR0kfWDR-i7Ukm1_QaXixv6U6Pzm1opI4Yp5f-McMnX1DoWQ0Eet5XmD51hmiok5Ma0x1161QLRNwQov72e4O-cvBoIt7qAoKYMZZFcA1agwWA/s1600/scan161.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 339px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595771544933972450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5VYETlLPq84A9na56yGQl93z3vH7iZlR0kfWDR-i7Ukm1_QaXixv6U6Pzm1opI4Yp5f-McMnX1DoWQ0Eet5XmD51hmiok5Ma0x1161QLRNwQov72e4O-cvBoIt7qAoKYMZZFcA1agwWA/s400/scan161.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxKAKaL1nvJzBa4pob4VyShPdjN4X0tDI90E4w2oJlYMMDJuiQpql9m0XvAMXCEGd3ewf7CQuVyXrTf0XtPHqQSqgv6qRT4SPq_VRpxULPxEoF_Mt1TdhJoIc7m6fFOFlLSSB52UIMQ00/s1600/scan158.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 306px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595771439508441714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxKAKaL1nvJzBa4pob4VyShPdjN4X0tDI90E4w2oJlYMMDJuiQpql9m0XvAMXCEGd3ewf7CQuVyXrTf0XtPHqQSqgv6qRT4SPq_VRpxULPxEoF_Mt1TdhJoIc7m6fFOFlLSSB52UIMQ00/s400/scan158.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zLBZfIgxU1bVUBytFuVuTA_XhxcWEvfL7aQv8XNt5FOeyF01-wdeq-9AryPWWZJfFduyxDnTg3Cgc9XGboDOHfC5kZrZMZ12pbJZpSthG4DfdSi1SvLbmPTe2YJMIMGmxDt7A2gwSp4f/s1600/scan159.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 319px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595770970044143874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zLBZfIgxU1bVUBytFuVuTA_XhxcWEvfL7aQv8XNt5FOeyF01-wdeq-9AryPWWZJfFduyxDnTg3Cgc9XGboDOHfC5kZrZMZ12pbJZpSthG4DfdSi1SvLbmPTe2YJMIMGmxDt7A2gwSp4f/s400/scan159.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKq8IKkug1TI9CxFzvTpHQBidEVCKqU-2LDLQR6mlWCMqXBvX7_1CC1h9GzRH6r5mfonoZWFFUkRtEpVgYB1LvIJGgUGl8FWijiDhyphenhyphenI00cpzQVizYXRR7ljwjdRQ4awhMLO3POxXQWB3jw/s1600/scan160.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 345px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595770838117480642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKq8IKkug1TI9CxFzvTpHQBidEVCKqU-2LDLQR6mlWCMqXBvX7_1CC1h9GzRH6r5mfonoZWFFUkRtEpVgYB1LvIJGgUGl8FWijiDhyphenhyphenI00cpzQVizYXRR7ljwjdRQ4awhMLO3POxXQWB3jw/s400/scan160.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-49610510943604194352011-08-10T05:25:00.000-07:002011-08-10T09:30:09.604-07:00Ascension<div align="center">*Please note, the photos are borrowed!*
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<br />We arrived in the church of San Giorgio Maggiore as a man and a woman emerged from a trap-door in a grey painted platform beneath the Dome. We took our seats in anticipation as four walls of fans whirred to an exhausted stop and left only an eery silence. We had arrived at Anish Kapoor's Ascension at the beginning of its lunch break. On the Venetian island of San Giorgio there was plenty Biennale to keep us entertained while we waited for Kapoor's installation to siesta: a photography exhibition of Real Venice, an exhibition of developments in tapestries, Penelope's Labour. </div>
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<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xja4DEUG-edPAAg24lXO07g3OeYY_xA8H3Lfi8M6eUOps2dIjBGDJbOSKUBxkrICrV8f_Rbyzsy4dbq6sx3FNjb07WQ0YOnonkH9zgYpNq5XFr13fG8Q2dF_upNTg9vM30Fb70wXOSAn/s1600/ascention_01.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639204118339337378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xja4DEUG-edPAAg24lXO07g3OeYY_xA8H3Lfi8M6eUOps2dIjBGDJbOSKUBxkrICrV8f_Rbyzsy4dbq6sx3FNjb07WQ0YOnonkH9zgYpNq5XFr13fG8Q2dF_upNTg9vM30Fb70wXOSAn/s400/ascention_01.jpg" />
<br /><p align="center"></a>At 2.30 there were crowds of people on the white-hot stairs of the Abbazia waiting for the doors to open on Kapoor's miracle. Even if you see the mechanics exposed; the invigilator disappearing to switch on, the fans warming up and Kapoor's ghost struggling towards ascension; the installation retains the quality of miracle. Smoke or mist,spirit or ghost; Anish Kapoor has created the perfect illusion. Installed here in the dome of
<br />San Giorgio's beautiful church it takes the viewer's breath away. A twist of dusty air curls up towards the heavenward cupola; a spirit ascending to the highest heights of religious experience.
<br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B3OW04JrRKVyT_9_AkR5E6Y98jd6Vgkli0fCVQri8LbA8QxTq-21FTNM0t2zpewUHJpH5_HMq-of1kmEonlJ6s31lP6JdEd6Wbuz3cJYxlDjQfDxXkQtxTf-ubKpFpJVr8cam4aCUVTL/s1600/ascension.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639203950926875970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B3OW04JrRKVyT_9_AkR5E6Y98jd6Vgkli0fCVQri8LbA8QxTq-21FTNM0t2zpewUHJpH5_HMq-of1kmEonlJ6s31lP6JdEd6Wbuz3cJYxlDjQfDxXkQtxTf-ubKpFpJVr8cam4aCUVTL/s400/ascension.jpg" /></a>
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<br />Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-63464416944295605112011-08-08T05:15:00.000-07:002011-08-08T15:42:50.199-07:00IlluminazioniOn our last night in Venice we left St Mark's after seeing Sting perform. Water had filled the square and was puddling beneath the cathedral. Chains of people splashed through the growing lake as they walked home. We took the ferry along the Grand Canal where the Venetian facades were softly illuminated in the starry dark of La Serenissma. The night waters were rising above the level of the city; crashing against squares where people sat at tables drinking, lapping at the feet of buildings, nudging at doorways. At the steps of the Natural HistoryMuseum a giant crab now floated in the quietly menacing black of the water. I felt the wonder of Venice under threat.
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<br />The waters of Venice must have seeped into my imagination and soaked its liquid impression upon me. That night I had a waking dream in which the rippling springs of my mattress metamorphosed into a Traghetto on the unsettled waves, the room was filled with a shimmering blanket of water and our rucksacks became a ferry navigating the narrow passage between the bunk beds. I quietly gasped and pushed my things beneath the bed to make room for its journey. Che bello sogno Venezia! In one night I had become enrapt by La Serenissima's buoyant magic.
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<br /><p align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoMTAA1rEk9EogLBKXlBoz-WDaRtWM8nmUzx5VZ2wkprRf0Ys1lH9wFEO-FAn1qRdCQZfyvI4iKbmoSMvFIh3hTT8WORvofTxoQGNWnLsvMSg4dM85dU-ZP808_hTAP7JYAaBefyyw6zr/s1600/DSCF1200.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636975517053386802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoMTAA1rEk9EogLBKXlBoz-WDaRtWM8nmUzx5VZ2wkprRf0Ys1lH9wFEO-FAn1qRdCQZfyvI4iKbmoSMvFIh3hTT8WORvofTxoQGNWnLsvMSg4dM85dU-ZP808_hTAP7JYAaBefyyw6zr/s400/DSCF1200.JPG" /></a> The Illuminazioni signs with a map to help you navigate the events.</p>
<br /><p>Being in Venice during the Biennale was fabulous, our wandering of the streets was punctuated by the discovery of pavillions, installations and parallel exhibitions. The black and red signs became beacons. We were travelling across Europe on a budget so we couldn't afford to pay to get into the pavillions at the Arsenale or Giardini but enjoyed tripping up on the smaller, free exhibitions we found. I like to think we found the hidden treasures of the Biennale; the underrated and underappreciated pavillions on the fringes.
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<br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6ImHAIhFCXmXuNyTlhjR9FbZT4F6SkOGlTy2t2WDpCIop9dtgHz1qhK9FpbynS84I2LORJRwylTBK_VasrFX5_-WgLZcEH7Bbco2OjcyyjW-G5jY3EFgsrYIbmkcYgDx7vu6O0YcYiqG/s1600/DSCF1192.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636975035702844418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6ImHAIhFCXmXuNyTlhjR9FbZT4F6SkOGlTy2t2WDpCIop9dtgHz1qhK9FpbynS84I2LORJRwylTBK_VasrFX5_-WgLZcEH7Bbco2OjcyyjW-G5jY3EFgsrYIbmkcYgDx7vu6O0YcYiqG/s400/DSCF1192.JPG" /></a> </p>Underneath the Palazzo Ducale in the Palazzo delle Prigioni we found the The Heard and Unheard: Soundscape Taiwain. The Sound Library/Bar was one of the highlights of our chance discoveries. Kuo-Chang Liu had collected pieces of furniture from hotels and Karaoke bars in Taiwan and filled the elegant Venetian interior. Beneath the chandelier hanging from the ceiling faded leather armchairs became platforms for Taiwanese music. The circular bar in the centre served sound and video projects and the back room hosted emerging bands. The idea of a 'soundscape' is an exciting and immersive project and it managed to communicate something of popular Taiwan (with artists such as Ming-Chang Chen and Blacklist Studio) as well as an emerging, experimental art scene.
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<br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_VObwyYEvkOZxnt7u5bIjhJNmiqyjRgyCc3rNQGX1w7JKI5gKSVDLWD3prDlfQ_v64ekfgGB8e2mIuP641VrpdAfOMNRUQQOp96LcnkSNu0f401_RqbRdGRdPlvDsoxxce6easrsvYC8/s1600/DSCF1201.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636974364138622050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_VObwyYEvkOZxnt7u5bIjhJNmiqyjRgyCc3rNQGX1w7JKI5gKSVDLWD3prDlfQ_v64ekfgGB8e2mIuP641VrpdAfOMNRUQQOp96LcnkSNu0f401_RqbRdGRdPlvDsoxxce6easrsvYC8/s400/DSCF1201.JPG" /></a> The Taiwanese Pavillion's melding of a stunning Venetian interior with its authentically evocative furnishings perfectly captured the Biennale's success. Modern galleries with their minimal white walls which give Art 'space' can never compete with Venice. Like the waters which seeped into my dream, Venice leaves its impression upon the art, it infects it with its magic. </p>
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5-G1VgvpwCjmuKM4_Q8jDpl15GDl43PTx9cXr8qYZOPyiDrXeDiZ-oU5Z6ktyxQq3DqKl9tXFKQuzHwm2nA7Z7d9H0VL9NsVM8lWmp5ilu2x9G599vT9K-zV3vZWBg77ZIhQ39Sk8G1R/s1600/DSCF1224.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636973835081414914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5-G1VgvpwCjmuKM4_Q8jDpl15GDl43PTx9cXr8qYZOPyiDrXeDiZ-oU5Z6ktyxQq3DqKl9tXFKQuzHwm2nA7Z7d9H0VL9NsVM8lWmp5ilu2x9G599vT9K-zV3vZWBg77ZIhQ39Sk8G1R/s400/DSCF1224.JPG" /></a> I had seen Erwin Wurm's Narrow House in Beijing's 798 factory complex, but it looked different in the sunlight on the grass in the gardens of the Glasstress. The illuminated dancers on the Canal would not have had the same waltzy joy if their shadows hadn't glittered on Venice's waters. I wasn't really gasping at the dancers as we passed either, but at the ornate balconied Venetian facade now a kaleidoscope of green, blue, red and yellow windows. I regret not being able to see Song Dong's parents Beijing house transported to the Giardini, but have at least seen something of the atmosphere which the Biennale gives Venice and Venice gives art.</p>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-20765010837823107562011-08-04T03:35:00.000-07:002011-08-04T04:47:16.675-07:00Trains in EuropeHello! I think it is about time that I returned to the blog for good now that I have graduated and the summer has well and truly arrived. I have just returned from an interrail trip across Europe. My friend and I traveled by train to Hamburg, Berlin, Prague, Bratislava, Vienna, Lake Bled, Ljubljana, Zagreb, Split, Venice, Verona and Milan. It was an amazing trip and I succeeded in talking my friend into art galleries, exhibitions and Biennale pavilions throughout our European tour. So expect stories very soon. Here a few photographs as a teaser, evidence that there is art everywhere in Europe if your eyes are open.<br /><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCohRi_vdeEAgGDiowCFXPgNi2_dqa5N48oAFIX_ybqQawJjRQMJKnScw_6mkcrBcECP_rycB42MYyuMT4_FIGFnfKyZApyfybA0f2f3G49Qkhk4fQ34_xnuroQnSHyew2vC8-aEMIAusq/s400/DSCF0202.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636952376808140738" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><div style="text-align: center;">A pop-up installation of blue sheep in Berlin which had been travelling all over Germany.</div></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizh_2F50Lhyphenhyphen6NY2Dd0w2rWDAvaeP8JUtwQ9mmdOedsDjGxm8D8UIua6P8GzxXSbs2N76rfSVRkLIXtqKLxaT6WFuxfeddMnE2tqhARw9Z3-_t8xOviDVPlWwqBjcmsIzo6DvN9KJAFk8X_/s1600/DSCF0577.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizh_2F50Lhyphenhyphen6NY2Dd0w2rWDAvaeP8JUtwQ9mmdOedsDjGxm8D8UIua6P8GzxXSbs2N76rfSVRkLIXtqKLxaT6WFuxfeddMnE2tqhARw9Z3-_t8xOviDVPlWwqBjcmsIzo6DvN9KJAFk8X_/s400/DSCF0577.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636953218386284930" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Alfons Mucha's stained glass window in St Vitus' Cathedral, Prague.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQC3YiNIDS39cFLRrwunGTKvRBs0BW_mXwQHxKrGEokCCRcdM-XieP54vkaMCwtr0nnZPOMYkP24WT1o6jD22lGZel5a-fZfkDSIeFJ07p16Kq21CnMz_od64S_K7S9IflhvIjWh0ORkT/s1600/DSCF1305.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQC3YiNIDS39cFLRrwunGTKvRBs0BW_mXwQHxKrGEokCCRcdM-XieP54vkaMCwtr0nnZPOMYkP24WT1o6jD22lGZel5a-fZfkDSIeFJ07p16Kq21CnMz_od64S_K7S9IflhvIjWh0ORkT/s400/DSCF1305.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636962037476789282" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Medieval carvings in Verona.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnhTk1na-PMNf96eJ-lmiK5oujsrET6_KfAxku_mDIyHsfMTdO-v5ccYM9WZ_qS16qGO6zFlTXzN_uTHh0RgCPvRTLTjCSe6p3Ft-RsZ5Z_cuCMmcJiidy6TctLOB0yJuH0KVRVxf69dd/s1600/DSCF1066.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnhTk1na-PMNf96eJ-lmiK5oujsrET6_KfAxku_mDIyHsfMTdO-v5ccYM9WZ_qS16qGO6zFlTXzN_uTHh0RgCPvRTLTjCSe6p3Ft-RsZ5Z_cuCMmcJiidy6TctLOB0yJuH0KVRVxf69dd/s400/DSCF1066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636959594595731442" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Zagreb's answer to the Berlin Wall.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_Tb2uQrpLcNRrzxHUb37pxSpk5SmeGQQ2Sblw-eIbZfI8e1g6E87djZ3KKKS312ONI1HN26uEkpOI3JXnn150N4UpMBXXquUSXiqeeGx_YwGa5N2ci4T0xRueD8LqzKuNuwJHQ3fcfqL/s1600/DSCF1013.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_Tb2uQrpLcNRrzxHUb37pxSpk5SmeGQQ2Sblw-eIbZfI8e1g6E87djZ3KKKS312ONI1HN26uEkpOI3JXnn150N4UpMBXXquUSXiqeeGx_YwGa5N2ci4T0xRueD8LqzKuNuwJHQ3fcfqL/s400/DSCF1013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636957614582842114" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Cloud Arrangers, an exhibition of music photography in Tivoli Park, Ljubljana.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRYXO8t4NRrc3l3WKdyMiqeSyzHBY1FohfxtvJcgMfPQjGinvUlh-7CeHdROVMkCbF6OBzvCtUFtmA2JeJy1x9ZEUPnVyeju_t0tYXJwVMkCCfZRacW5ojf_xyFGX9NagjkjFvYUceM0K/s1600/DSCF0921.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRYXO8t4NRrc3l3WKdyMiqeSyzHBY1FohfxtvJcgMfPQjGinvUlh-7CeHdROVMkCbF6OBzvCtUFtmA2JeJy1x9ZEUPnVyeju_t0tYXJwVMkCCfZRacW5ojf_xyFGX9NagjkjFvYUceM0K/s400/DSCF0921.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636955022238593890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Art Nouveau apothecary in Vienna.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0yrqNWOU7Hao2JyWiMgWtS8HF63pZ2dDofnEI_dBQ9NBR9sf9EjhtnEbXvU2kycdzTKMd-nUPAs_axIFwrirH-Rwgpg8by6-W9S8gC9cy6aQKik46cbarwRW9VlgG486KlpH-F_ValAT/s1600/DSCF1329.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0yrqNWOU7Hao2JyWiMgWtS8HF63pZ2dDofnEI_dBQ9NBR9sf9EjhtnEbXvU2kycdzTKMd-nUPAs_axIFwrirH-Rwgpg8by6-W9S8gC9cy6aQKik46cbarwRW9VlgG486KlpH-F_ValAT/s400/DSCF1329.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636960510755099922" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">On the roof of the gothic cathedral in Milan.</div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-33216034950199582572011-06-07T02:20:00.000-07:002011-06-07T03:29:09.291-07:00Precious: Paula Rego and Siobhan Wall, New Hall Art Collection June 5th-July 3rd<div><a href="http://www.art.newhall.cam.ac.uk/exhibitions/time/show/id/54/name/Precious:+Paula+Rego+etchings+&+Siobhan+Wall+drawings">Precious</a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhZqlFSGgqN7CR1MowRs8XSIygYcFn6fhtIC_isAlQDM9wLUpnhOhlwCJnSMSfSKR08COhGgKSJm2fmWhIMnEul8DJ2z17TPMSau-BrP7Er9ybsPI8lSoXO7t7n1r_eWy6hRHNaJU2p0Y/s1600/Tb821BtyE2_main.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 283px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615422329050302562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhZqlFSGgqN7CR1MowRs8XSIygYcFn6fhtIC_isAlQDM9wLUpnhOhlwCJnSMSfSKR08COhGgKSJm2fmWhIMnEul8DJ2z17TPMSau-BrP7Er9ybsPI8lSoXO7t7n1r_eWy6hRHNaJU2p0Y/s400/Tb821BtyE2_main.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Free samples of Natracare tampax and female genital mutilation. For an exhibition in an all girls college within the second largest collection of contemporary women's artwork in the world, the combination of polemic and promotion is awkwardly comic. All ironies aside, this is one of the most exciting exhibitions I have seen at the New Hall Art Collection. Paula Rego, powerful feminist dialogue, political intent...This is the kind of exhibition New Hall should be stripping its grey brick walls for, and which commands a visit.<br /><br />'Precious has been organised to raise awareness about sexual violence against girls, in particular the widespread practice of female genital mutilation in countries like Ethiopia where WOMANKIND worldwide is active in trying to eliminate this harmful traditional practice...After watching a documentary about FGM, Paula Rego was so affected by what she saw, she produced the series of etchings in this exhibition. A few yeards earlier, Siobhan Wall travelled to Mali and learnt that FGM is still widely practiced in the country...she decided to raise funds for organisations that support attempts to end this traumatic practice.'<br /><br />Siobhan Wall's paintings are small portraits of African women. They remind me of art therapy projects from communities of silenced women in Africa and of Chris Ofili's watercolours of diversity. They have an understated but powerfully resonant voiec. They remind us of the reality at the root of Rego's elaborated grand narratives. This is the major fault of the exhibition; the disproportionate nature of Rego's etchings and Wall's paintings, only exacerbated by their display on alternate walls. Wall's work needs the cavernous space of pointed silence. Rego's etchings clamour with indignation, they fill all available space, they rupture all silence. I find myself ignoring Wall.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVggvqP2yvtlqCpAFDP9gXgyWDhtGRkuZVBgu3NYOqdyXK7Dulo6hmfuCPe3xe1vv8ZhYqelw_rV-QQKbSnmi9nidTZ1NuNhbiwpORlNdKfu0svjBRAaSvuQBF2hJGZRcwRt6PkXn58EO/s1600/paula_rego_circumcision_d5362408h.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 311px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 340px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615422538435013954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVggvqP2yvtlqCpAFDP9gXgyWDhtGRkuZVBgu3NYOqdyXK7Dulo6hmfuCPe3xe1vv8ZhYqelw_rV-QQKbSnmi9nidTZ1NuNhbiwpORlNdKfu0svjBRAaSvuQBF2hJGZRcwRt6PkXn58EO/s400/paula_rego_circumcision_d5362408h.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Rego's narrative is etched with a painfully beautiful skill. The legacy of her 'Nursery Rhymes' mean that all her etchings appear to me to be fabulous, fable-like, a complex work of visual storytelling. This is the comfort, the richness of ink, that makes the reality all the more difficult to bear. Rego has created a villain of FGM; starved of voluptuous feminity, wrinkled gourds for breasts, gnashing teeth for a vagina, a living corpse. She is the bogeyman of little girls' nightmares. But worse than this, this is a purposefully female narrative. It is women who perpetrate and perpetuate and perform abuse. Grandmothers, Nannys, Mothers all lead the little girls to their mutilation, restraining and holding their hands over mouths as the little girl's legs are spread, because 'Mother Loves You'. There is no patriarchy or misogyny, none of the expected and accepted forms of oppression.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIkMRAh0IJ-D-9YoEHxde3ShnXRUPGi93eUxx9bD8k5TlIyqF3GFb0R-LPPAvBZLNJ4Fvp3xTzqyiXV1hRwl74vsDoq70jtwXOtVKivuntpjzc7RmTW_uKnPKT1uJjJAq-RQxDPB2CehA/s1600/paula-rego-full.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 365px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615422738094013506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSIkMRAh0IJ-D-9YoEHxde3ShnXRUPGi93eUxx9bD8k5TlIyqF3GFb0R-LPPAvBZLNJ4Fvp3xTzqyiXV1hRwl74vsDoq70jtwXOtVKivuntpjzc7RmTW_uKnPKT1uJjJAq-RQxDPB2CehA/s400/paula-rego-full.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Any exhibition here is going to suffer from the limits of the exhibition space; the light from fountain court flashes across the picture frames, I have to dance and dodge about to admire the rich depth of Rego's etchings and aquatints, and there is little opportunity to step back and survey in an exhibition which demands our consideration. Stark and sparse; such a bold curatorial statement extrapolates beyond the limits of the narrow corridor.<br /><br />When I first came to the college it was Rego's etching <a href="http://www-art.newhall.cam.ac.uk/the-collection/by/artist/id/202/name/Dame+Paula+Rego">'Encampment'</a> locked away in the Fellow's Drawing room that I sought out and coveted as the treasure of the collection. The steely stars glimmer in the sky above, stories are told in the shadows, and fires quietly illuminate the surreal camp of dancing animals and children. Why didn't the New Hall Art collection have more of Rego, I wondered. This exhibition is the one I have waited for, for three years.</div></div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-7697198836516961842011-04-10T02:04:00.000-07:002011-04-10T02:38:07.238-07:00Sunday SelectionsTime for<a href="http://frogpondsrock.com/2011/04/sunday-selections-14/"> Sunday Selections</a> again! It seems that this is all I am getting time for! However, I am making a Sunday trip to see a living hand-press today, so some photos might be in order! <div><br /></div><div>These photographs need to be introduced with a little story. It was approaching 3am on our final night in Craiova, Romania, before our holidays. We were in the smoky depths of Pub's Pub crowned with tequila sombreros, dancing and singing, when a student suggested we might get on their 3.30 train to the beach. In a tequila-fuelled panic we rushed home, packed our bags, woke up our friend and fellow traveller and bought the last standing seats on the train to Costinesti. The train was 11 hours long. Without a seat, tripped over like a piece of luggage in the aisle, our adventure began to seem less and less like a good idea. <div><div><br /></div><div>But it was worth it, for the story and for the memories. These photographs are from the first night when we went to a big concert on the beach to see some Romanian music stars. That is the longest I may have ever gone without sleep and by the end of the show the strobe lights were lulling me in to a dance-floor-dream. I think the strange abstract catches of light recreate the sense of excited exhaustion. It's a shame that so many arms and heads manage to get in the way of the magic. <div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgfTn8tnrBvgslge2fh0UKG8COttm40a91g8-_vAmpjDXsMgYoVcNwn3g9tHOg_NWslbuCNoznCRmHBmwIKhOW1zjTQBd5qQ6FvpDwEr_fMx_qsU1xh4z16eyBj2L0ysyZlbVz_YT1RQu/s1600/alice+in+Romania+342.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgfTn8tnrBvgslge2fh0UKG8COttm40a91g8-_vAmpjDXsMgYoVcNwn3g9tHOg_NWslbuCNoznCRmHBmwIKhOW1zjTQBd5qQ6FvpDwEr_fMx_qsU1xh4z16eyBj2L0ysyZlbVz_YT1RQu/s400/alice+in+Romania+342.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593882529568069698" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4U1nVELrXHb24lMYnEShxgz5YfwuMqsJ05LZNNJ1PjYe2tzfEo9DkvP1QfNrUoP2NF7z-dQQDQeD5wdU3ZJfJ_8DYDsVKFkv7vt3fSBiPc7jU-S5E22bitES9AHbgGkYwOYWIn3LDgqoE/s1600/alice+in+Romania+340.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4U1nVELrXHb24lMYnEShxgz5YfwuMqsJ05LZNNJ1PjYe2tzfEo9DkvP1QfNrUoP2NF7z-dQQDQeD5wdU3ZJfJ_8DYDsVKFkv7vt3fSBiPc7jU-S5E22bitES9AHbgGkYwOYWIn3LDgqoE/s400/alice+in+Romania+340.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593882400965547570" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IUdqLpUQYfN5jaOOoqV8fnz_YVmlMKcCfN6P7RFHfSaguuX-BldTkyjG1oXkgPSrTKXLnTRit0pcskXFlUG2n86yzTvBeofIPAnXErbEqf3YR1o9gr0OwYIAiyjCOM0DUlZIPVFz5XN3/s1600/music.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IUdqLpUQYfN5jaOOoqV8fnz_YVmlMKcCfN6P7RFHfSaguuX-BldTkyjG1oXkgPSrTKXLnTRit0pcskXFlUG2n86yzTvBeofIPAnXErbEqf3YR1o9gr0OwYIAiyjCOM0DUlZIPVFz5XN3/s400/music.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593882280965883714" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTAQU66YtQ7oIPJC4O0kRGguRXXnCZjN3FM7rwWrpI0K0xIwcPS0tXhHALiciJh3UYi4nwA9HdKYD-AUWIRrIgT22ZQRfUJAr3MSSmUlrrjG-pf3jB9-r_vzhAuvLnUKfWThQqX5O8Nes/s1600/alice+in+Romania+345.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTAQU66YtQ7oIPJC4O0kRGguRXXnCZjN3FM7rwWrpI0K0xIwcPS0tXhHALiciJh3UYi4nwA9HdKYD-AUWIRrIgT22ZQRfUJAr3MSSmUlrrjG-pf3jB9-r_vzhAuvLnUKfWThQqX5O8Nes/s400/alice+in+Romania+345.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593881181471890882" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1C1ew66bobohgq8XrzqckAnPKZyWXXYn9XXckxe9EM3ZDzbudEkKOzDxt-ioGex9dYiPvkgEQ-eJzu2doCOuOf2cOG2zYdIhXdymvd2iDdHmL3kB3K9GaAYM3_8mqkvLfh5f2-YjheVnF/s1600/alice+in+Romania+344.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1C1ew66bobohgq8XrzqckAnPKZyWXXYn9XXckxe9EM3ZDzbudEkKOzDxt-ioGex9dYiPvkgEQ-eJzu2doCOuOf2cOG2zYdIhXdymvd2iDdHmL3kB3K9GaAYM3_8mqkvLfh5f2-YjheVnF/s400/alice+in+Romania+344.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593883090590448018" /></a><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-58038924746641802942011-04-03T13:58:00.001-07:002011-04-03T14:20:09.749-07:00Sunday SelectionsHere is the ebb and flow of my contributions to Kim's <a href="http://frogpondsrock.com/2011/04/sunday-selections-13/">Sunday Selections</a>. I felt particularly inspired by her architectural photographs this week, but got distracted by other things when I was looking through my own photographs. Sometimes the devil is in the detail, see something from slightly off-centre and a new perspective emerges. These photographs reveal the strange focus of a trip to Rome. Strange details found at familiar sights. An odd collection of tourist shots.<div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzz-_U2FXeRca2MV1S4Am_twiQqKj2aKODoCRzp9pg9D37GHAxdMTfJD5Qn7h1zPLL1PZbbdRhodHmuX6K2mMqAb8wFCneFG_J0ityIDOBLzuCRSVWJkS0bUJKitxi97sJxQV1iWRM8krI/s1600/2008_0226friendsart0660.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzz-_U2FXeRca2MV1S4Am_twiQqKj2aKODoCRzp9pg9D37GHAxdMTfJD5Qn7h1zPLL1PZbbdRhodHmuX6K2mMqAb8wFCneFG_J0ityIDOBLzuCRSVWJkS0bUJKitxi97sJxQV1iWRM8krI/s400/2008_0226friendsart0660.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591468330355319778" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">From the roof of San Pietro the sculptures signal.</div></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rXuO6e6iaLsS5DCacXxR4pSSKLRfm_OvIgZBeGjef1xc3xqqoAiobczm4MouqNQ7j15Pc6Q15hsEIp2XMxX2bTkcKnP2hmo3YpCxqlpjzTJDa-ZizutFiQmQo-Nk5HNHFvE_hYmJki8A/s1600/2008_0226friendsart0709.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rXuO6e6iaLsS5DCacXxR4pSSKLRfm_OvIgZBeGjef1xc3xqqoAiobczm4MouqNQ7j15Pc6Q15hsEIp2XMxX2bTkcKnP2hmo3YpCxqlpjzTJDa-ZizutFiQmQo-Nk5HNHFvE_hYmJki8A/s400/2008_0226friendsart0709.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591468004043777042" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Mussolini's name, partially erased from a monument. Still etched in stone if not in red. </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_Lla63_KaJhiYeDuIYNSZBNPCzropdNhK5V20A8UOvCd-HN37pPbWfo0VC-OWHQ-C-w496f0NLmNH4c7Xu1YiGj2gTlBmNgy67vu5BdHH-DieRNLcvv6vIT8XBR4xTZYbmSatdPx5K2m/s1600/RomeView.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_Lla63_KaJhiYeDuIYNSZBNPCzropdNhK5V20A8UOvCd-HN37pPbWfo0VC-OWHQ-C-w496f0NLmNH4c7Xu1YiGj2gTlBmNgy67vu5BdHH-DieRNLcvv6vIT8XBR4xTZYbmSatdPx5K2m/s400/RomeView.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591467515010068450" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The view from Castello d'Angelo across the city of Rome and the headless bust which oversees it. </div></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXAYiboa8nSFX4JiFAAwFO3v157Pnbx4A2mRNe9eGN9GJ0dqogPn8fXIHpym_8mDYjYS6sG957G6Tr_kkSP6_qFU_852o0TMIU93GQKc238rcreuHCj5909I15rhljMt5wX6zUH9tIHq8/s1600/2008_0226friendsart0575.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXAYiboa8nSFX4JiFAAwFO3v157Pnbx4A2mRNe9eGN9GJ0dqogPn8fXIHpym_8mDYjYS6sG957G6Tr_kkSP6_qFU_852o0TMIU93GQKc238rcreuHCj5909I15rhljMt5wX6zUH9tIHq8/s400/2008_0226friendsart0575.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591467351399625586" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The stairs in the Vatican.</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg9CtPF9QjR9jkH4FmIFL2DepO7H9qZcNXSGn-X3JOPjiABGJW9rMPqfT5YJ3A388EumeEQoGK8lVxFEfBm5bvEDR9Dpm-iQa91aTfXCi_G0jTtyF5L51JwcLrIM_hk5Jk032XPZVLfTK/s1600/2008_0226friendsart0203.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg9CtPF9QjR9jkH4FmIFL2DepO7H9qZcNXSGn-X3JOPjiABGJW9rMPqfT5YJ3A388EumeEQoGK8lVxFEfBm5bvEDR9Dpm-iQa91aTfXCi_G0jTtyF5L51JwcLrIM_hk5Jk032XPZVLfTK/s400/2008_0226friendsart0203.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591465790293618178" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Crowds at the Trevi Fountain, observed.</div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-932732541919784752011-04-02T08:57:00.000-07:002011-04-02T09:14:20.877-07:00Trumpington War MemorialIt has been too long. I have been getting very slack, or perhaps just busy. The dissertations are winding down but I have been sneaking in a few last field trips as a reluctant goodbye. When the sun appeared in the afternoon on Tuesday I cycled to Trumpington in the manic winds. In this small village is a war memorial designed by Eric Gill. <div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uwD3GsqGuaEWv-qFDOFN3a0xIWb9mD0lkX4raMhT1IN_i79aEfiU3fxNfjz6TmQWp5PZ-wSThzAFAAuF4m1S048SC2UpPn8rHEhpubT_B8tWqzTMk7Ldtln2N0ZXNQAcIxNt92m8aOCq/s1600/trumpington+war+memorial+001.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uwD3GsqGuaEWv-qFDOFN3a0xIWb9mD0lkX4raMhT1IN_i79aEfiU3fxNfjz6TmQWp5PZ-wSThzAFAAuF4m1S048SC2UpPn8rHEhpubT_B8tWqzTMk7Ldtln2N0ZXNQAcIxNt92m8aOCq/s400/trumpington+war+memorial+001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591016860986981938" /></a>In full view of the incongruous cars I took a few photos on the dying batteries of my camera as I circled the War Memorial. It turned out to be a longer trek into the suburban backs of Cambridge than I had imagined so I made a careful and ponderous loop of the memorial to justify the trip. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_LZ5coUEnthLQk3Eq1KU-CRwFxUhKLEMFxoN7RgwGz-BNfH744oqxP2QjekGqh0sTldjgTvbG4WqS7TuVqvjIZRCf_Sjd-8A23VJvwp3RmTAZM9Cz71CuTgJ7nuVOqGHysBgbBrns04q/s1600/trumpington+war+memorial+005.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_LZ5coUEnthLQk3Eq1KU-CRwFxUhKLEMFxoN7RgwGz-BNfH744oqxP2QjekGqh0sTldjgTvbG4WqS7TuVqvjIZRCf_Sjd-8A23VJvwp3RmTAZM9Cz71CuTgJ7nuVOqGHysBgbBrns04q/s400/trumpington+war+memorial+005.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591016548071746418" /></a>It makes me wonder how many monuments and memorials designed by Eric Gill lie forgotten in the unassuming rural fringes of Britain. I wonder now if I have passed sculpture and carved stone without realising what I was seeing, and, if in the future there will be recognition. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVFDyIoFy88nYCmql_yOxRT0TygqFdq3Pq0ocWjniTUsaQ0OSVYlzXZ8UzEyuLrwrZg88yInMsPb7x_O_DPjFjCqXRxqWtlH4HCoG1h7_td-snDuEL_WGXMkKyaAY07GTRLFrtT876i65/s1600/trumpington+war+memorial+008.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVFDyIoFy88nYCmql_yOxRT0TygqFdq3Pq0ocWjniTUsaQ0OSVYlzXZ8UzEyuLrwrZg88yInMsPb7x_O_DPjFjCqXRxqWtlH4HCoG1h7_td-snDuEL_WGXMkKyaAY07GTRLFrtT876i65/s400/trumpington+war+memorial+008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591016286153101986" /></a>My various pilgrimages to seek out the work of Gill have proved how deeply embedded he is within a not so distant, still influential, British culture. The mark of Gill is there on some subconscious level, a lens through which we view sculpture, inscription, typography and architecture.</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrL3DiomSzyyqEvaF50uLbWDAjkwhnovSoCBW8ojuRl7XY9MWaBiQqvUOHU4J7EoOZ2UwKAKKrGwJd_oGD1LlSxD45I0nFN7Ag-K06LYwttuAGmFr4hb7F2wwJrhtN5v3EnPTnoZdseRyO/s1600/trumpington+war+memorial+014.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrL3DiomSzyyqEvaF50uLbWDAjkwhnovSoCBW8ojuRl7XY9MWaBiQqvUOHU4J7EoOZ2UwKAKKrGwJd_oGD1LlSxD45I0nFN7Ag-K06LYwttuAGmFr4hb7F2wwJrhtN5v3EnPTnoZdseRyO/s400/trumpington+war+memorial+014.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591016181543804050" /></a><br /></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-49609701012845173322011-03-14T10:02:00.000-07:002011-03-14T14:29:34.732-07:00Book DesignI should be finishing up my first dissertation but I keep reading and this continually opens up new angles. Over the past few days I have been following up a few ideas about the significance of fully-integrated book design in Jones' poem <i>The Anathemata</i>. Part of my argument is that the physical book of <i>The Anathemata</i> becomes a sign in itself, an object which the reader uses to perform an<i> 'anamnesis'</i> , like the transubstantiation of the Eucharist. It suddenly occurred to me that treating the book as a utile sign in itself has its roots in a far deeper history. Gill and Jones were involved with the private printing presses of Hilary Pepler and Robert Gibbings; The St. Dominic's press at Ditchling and The Golden Cockerel Press. Anyway this has led me down the criss-crossing history paths of further research. This further 'research' mostly involves requesting the most beautiful books from the stacks and absorbing every minute detail of its design. I have been reading about the history of these two presses, feeling the quality of its paper choices beneath my fingertips, seeing carefully selected typefaces which have been handset, and perhaps best of all admiring the specially commissioned wood cuts and engravings which revived a dying art. <div><br /><div> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjv5JBg9zaC-ZP-RCBMD9PtI4W3UzlnQNPuRYRxrw6EzHKI_try-l438Zs5KIm1IigWLNPL54TduxQb6AUSvrINIgD_NAwsi_QCjDJwPfhvTSy9DyjTCCcfLBOpDp7ibR_FhbAJpXheAb/s1600/gill4gospels.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjv5JBg9zaC-ZP-RCBMD9PtI4W3UzlnQNPuRYRxrw6EzHKI_try-l438Zs5KIm1IigWLNPL54TduxQb6AUSvrINIgD_NAwsi_QCjDJwPfhvTSy9DyjTCCcfLBOpDp7ibR_FhbAJpXheAb/s400/gill4gospels.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584040917977549202" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Eric Gill, Four Gospels</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left; ">There are two masterworks I have been studying. The first is Eric Gill's <i>Four Gospels</i> for the Golden Cockerel Press. Gibbings gave Gill the typeface as a framework and the engravings grew from this. As I looked through the pages I could sense the perfected unity which this process of working had produced. The letters are interwoven with the designs, so that story and illustration are an integrated and fluent whole. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZPWP3X-6aiCJP_LN7JT0hqGRlnbndxghLgl4IrjVLWQTPRL38cBXe2Ijm3TT2ePTPyGSAThKRGfQUoptzfMnPFFKhAxf4fwxt5b-PxWaNKsCyOUTuQgUXyWnOUBZDUUbWJFjv_vWqGCS/s1600/gillthe+word.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZPWP3X-6aiCJP_LN7JT0hqGRlnbndxghLgl4IrjVLWQTPRL38cBXe2Ijm3TT2ePTPyGSAThKRGfQUoptzfMnPFFKhAxf4fwxt5b-PxWaNKsCyOUTuQgUXyWnOUBZDUUbWJFjv_vWqGCS/s400/gillthe+word.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584040760035688818" /></a>I am very tempted to take this page and head my dissertation with it, at the moment I have a simple quotation 'In the beginning was the Word [...] The Word made flesh.' but perhaps this invokes so much more?</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDOgpjCn64ooDm97AnVFiurEi4nldEhdkH8-ZEJLpihK039eqhnwHlyBegIjENRAHNjB4q1y0DOPFy2fIvJBa8hSlR3p84lCQPY7rx-cIDhOB68rNbVUgH7G0e43nunKUG_ATYMfg7lXJ/s1600/Gill_gospel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDOgpjCn64ooDm97AnVFiurEi4nldEhdkH8-ZEJLpihK039eqhnwHlyBegIjENRAHNjB4q1y0DOPFy2fIvJBa8hSlR3p84lCQPY7rx-cIDhOB68rNbVUgH7G0e43nunKUG_ATYMfg7lXJ/s400/Gill_gospel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584040631519551074" /></a>It is clear from these pages and excerpts the extent to which Gill was experimenting with typography, layout and the relationship between visual and linguistic arrangements of meaning. This is one of the side effects of my dissertation, that suddenly I have this overwhelming appreciation for typography. Typography which once seemed the most incidental of things has become this vessel of resonant meaning. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquj0WKa5SLBjwWVj6-DGE_AUJQeoUQyLwn8MHYQmttEDwSZ9K_jFRulDFMmPt1etUiycaV6tU2axwCp3fdc3ZmgeI2OmVurvTHCV64Q9XzzJR8u8WbpRJl7XLFnLhm4La7yYbPDpq0iwo/s1600/fourgospelsgill.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjquj0WKa5SLBjwWVj6-DGE_AUJQeoUQyLwn8MHYQmttEDwSZ9K_jFRulDFMmPt1etUiycaV6tU2axwCp3fdc3ZmgeI2OmVurvTHCV64Q9XzzJR8u8WbpRJl7XLFnLhm4La7yYbPDpq0iwo/s400/fourgospelsgill.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584040451297727202" /></a>I read somewhere that copies of Gill's <i>The Four Gospels </i>now sell for around £5000. This moment in the University Library, touching vellum and hand-pressed paper, is the closest I will ever get to such essential perfection!</div><div><br /></div><div>For David Jones' masterwork of Book Design I looked to the<i> Chester Play of the Deluge</i> which he produced woodcuts for in 1927 for the Golden Cockerel Press. The collaboration with Robert Gibbings on this project enabled him to take more of an interest in layout and to produce woodblocks of an even greater complexity. The engravings are dark, compact knots of energy. They capture the chaos and power of the biblical story of Noah. My attention was directed towards <i>The Deluge</i> mostly because of a scholar called Thomas Dilworth who writes that Jones's <i>Anathemat</i>a takes its spatial structure from an artistic development that Jones made in these same woodcuts. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jNE-ReJiYSo-vkN5EKK9keYnfwRa3IygNgR2XCODOColPOoX5CIfAixPPe3ThT3uY1kfSWGIOnA4xKuQdZkoRgPOFT7g0y0mzhuqrVAUKk-7WaBMic-8IV2oAZW8xMdvmQBI8D_X3X3G/s1600/thedelugejones.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jNE-ReJiYSo-vkN5EKK9keYnfwRa3IygNgR2XCODOColPOoX5CIfAixPPe3ThT3uY1kfSWGIOnA4xKuQdZkoRgPOFT7g0y0mzhuqrVAUKk-7WaBMic-8IV2oAZW8xMdvmQBI8D_X3X3G/s400/thedelugejones.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583983590563927410" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>The Deluge, David Jones</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLYF_FgEj-CR52Hg9sQpsTinB00wv3qiK0IWYRkLkKYWfyqREhSBclFwwOU6-5t2q72cZMPSjaqi0z9YZ5jjXe82m6bPXXiSfQHUM8NgC5q0f69wNGKTR3ay478VJlJ-Vyw2J88FPJVe4/s1600/delugebuilingthearkjones.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 348px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLYF_FgEj-CR52Hg9sQpsTinB00wv3qiK0IWYRkLkKYWfyqREhSBclFwwOU6-5t2q72cZMPSjaqi0z9YZ5jjXe82m6bPXXiSfQHUM8NgC5q0f69wNGKTR3ay478VJlJ-Vyw2J88FPJVe4/s400/delugebuilingthearkjones.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583983452282645522" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Building the Ark, Jones</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOY9OnQhF3zFrmLJGS1nAuhxlki1uo3Cah9bobP4W4GLDNftg42IBKjSOu65wdNolLbN-sYKLfxW0lxFAEaY92gkWRq_4gfCZLR9l6sCtCfJsGB4x5qzwPJtvNQehLxBrb6chZ6hslpPSm/s1600/delugeafterthejones.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 348px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOY9OnQhF3zFrmLJGS1nAuhxlki1uo3Cah9bobP4W4GLDNftg42IBKjSOu65wdNolLbN-sYKLfxW0lxFAEaY92gkWRq_4gfCZLR9l6sCtCfJsGB4x5qzwPJtvNQehLxBrb6chZ6hslpPSm/s400/delugeafterthejones.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583983279720874690" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>After the Deluge, Jones </i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>While I agree with Dilworth's description of the spatial structuring in these woodcuts, the point I want to make about David Jones' and his involvement with book design is something very different. But I'm not going to give anything away in that regard...</div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>This remains as a glimpse in to my afternoon of discovery, I hope you have a feel for something significant and exciting in this.</div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-14733386394532514822011-03-13T01:42:00.000-08:002011-03-13T03:04:29.436-07:00Sunday SelectionsIt feels lovely to decide to return to Kim's <a href="http://frogpondsrock.com/2011/03/sunday-selections-10/">Sunday Selections</a> even if in England I find myself a little late. This week I have chosen some photographs from a very vivid memory of a walk in China. One evening I went to get fruit and food from the nearby village. It was a short walk away from the school along a road, through emptiness to the eventual buzz of small, local streets. It was so incredibly humid outside that my camera lens, directed at the hazy scene, immediately was coated in a shiny layer of wetness. This short walk became an intrepid adventure and the poor quality of the photographs capture something of the magic of the feeling, the hesitation and curiosity. <div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AHDviHMdFVJApNT45nqaaO1nQ-A1wzRjs1jMYjDZYJwXDR7kqNc8E6ngcCFQNAcBk51_WrsNfv0H48dH5nIwUcsuXdVAb7MaC1fCZLvlWpM5-x35a6rzwWGSg2UR4YSC30KhWxGAzBWR/s1600/store3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AHDviHMdFVJApNT45nqaaO1nQ-A1wzRjs1jMYjDZYJwXDR7kqNc8E6ngcCFQNAcBk51_WrsNfv0H48dH5nIwUcsuXdVAb7MaC1fCZLvlWpM5-x35a6rzwWGSg2UR4YSC30KhWxGAzBWR/s400/store3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583501598040321362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Shop front</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvgGpwpU_02mnoVshWil3_z2Y7zpzBdhGV-jACpVZLpHKZhFw9785sKQJ4ya6k6oWgcuRCtVEupsq0X_MtViL_cbWuQTmJurxjrI3lQrriiGqgRLCHrZbqflX1gFfDbYu5QzZ4XcdimafK/s1600/passing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvgGpwpU_02mnoVshWil3_z2Y7zpzBdhGV-jACpVZLpHKZhFw9785sKQJ4ya6k6oWgcuRCtVEupsq0X_MtViL_cbWuQTmJurxjrI3lQrriiGqgRLCHrZbqflX1gFfDbYu5QzZ4XcdimafK/s400/passing.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583501517181632002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Passing cart</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzNAnLP95mG4AowByyUZIuoLsBda4tCXiypc_6liz9Ze6FnOUElSWHDfmI4gtSwdzDOgTs1-RpebVrl4_LeOoF6YNJVmEngmkxgxzSk4OSRNb9ZZThBd-o9KS61b06aRIE7zIt2xh6jdR/s1600/china+128.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOzNAnLP95mG4AowByyUZIuoLsBda4tCXiypc_6liz9Ze6FnOUElSWHDfmI4gtSwdzDOgTs1-RpebVrl4_LeOoF6YNJVmEngmkxgxzSk4OSRNb9ZZThBd-o9KS61b06aRIE7zIt2xh6jdR/s400/china+128.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583501450496796722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Street Scene</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9v3iq2xHJ1VORbbPcZ_5_OmaGylimBj7fmEk7_Sar9LbSjD1IwAQ0_qgCHPoJojZM8pAqx0UtRZwZBRpR-v2bDEyZidq2lFAJ0kNXag5fpB0EzBpcGnSiceDSax_nlvJpu3Hlj0RwWkzT/s1600/store.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9v3iq2xHJ1VORbbPcZ_5_OmaGylimBj7fmEk7_Sar9LbSjD1IwAQ0_qgCHPoJojZM8pAqx0UtRZwZBRpR-v2bDEyZidq2lFAJ0kNXag5fpB0EzBpcGnSiceDSax_nlvJpu3Hlj0RwWkzT/s400/store.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583501148251097762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Shop Front</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NrinodBp_0CfTZwOiAjK4zuElbbNqvNvGrFyMqpSGASNBcQ57POuXyRHgdJgA_jQMCEWHIYTiNgnMDALPDjh5rM5O5lUvTwh_D2EDARyhV4MOzRxhiZGWFG6Ss5xPT7Ju-cVMg9EGbt9/s1600/store2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NrinodBp_0CfTZwOiAjK4zuElbbNqvNvGrFyMqpSGASNBcQ57POuXyRHgdJgA_jQMCEWHIYTiNgnMDALPDjh5rM5O5lUvTwh_D2EDARyhV4MOzRxhiZGWFG6Ss5xPT7Ju-cVMg9EGbt9/s400/store2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583501065207396642" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Grocery store</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC3Iow_mdcmO2_yNayMS27gi06o5c5533rXrXdzxE_uJfIhiCmv4yjO9mRBXkTy4BQtQTjnBk2exzP69S4g5qace5jjTzU9auKEBjXo06UkpmLGFpjeyqTmy46vVt1sfQKOqCJjpN69hv/s1600/china+131.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC3Iow_mdcmO2_yNayMS27gi06o5c5533rXrXdzxE_uJfIhiCmv4yjO9mRBXkTy4BQtQTjnBk2exzP69S4g5qace5jjTzU9auKEBjXo06UkpmLGFpjeyqTmy46vVt1sfQKOqCJjpN69hv/s400/china+131.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583498358259369058" /></a><br /></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-60218367778978647692011-03-12T01:46:00.000-08:002011-03-12T03:43:04.067-08:00MischiefTwo months ago I worked at the private view of Lucia Noguiera's exhibition at Kettle's Yard. While serving drinks to Noguiera's beautiful daughter, various essayists, curators and organisers of the exhibition and Cambridge's most cultured crowd I had a few minutes to tour the exhibition. As I left, clutching a copy of the exhibition catalogue, I promised myself that I would return to think about the exhibition properly away from the excitement of the evening. Today I finally followed the promise back to the gallery space of Kettle's Yard. <div><br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDC351pAYg3dtSD5yEXOTLDjaPK4AlwGnISQllOVGhm5TpO_5PSIoYtJdv1wtE6mc9H2TvHOihmPNgaT-QColBdPW5dVdeXFa78oPhw8KtRhIdh6oOg95cXmYTRm0-uyRq0z4j7Mbi96i2/s1600/nogueira_mischief.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDC351pAYg3dtSD5yEXOTLDjaPK4AlwGnISQllOVGhm5TpO_5PSIoYtJdv1wtE6mc9H2TvHOihmPNgaT-QColBdPW5dVdeXFa78oPhw8KtRhIdh6oOg95cXmYTRm0-uyRq0z4j7Mbi96i2/s400/nogueira_mischief.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583151258614503458" /></a><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; ">'My way of thinking is very much from Brazil: my way of picking up objects comes from there too. It is something connected with childhood and also with the Brazilian psyche. Our way of thinking is not as linear as it is in Europe ... In art you obviously have a background in art history that is very rich. We don't have that in Brazil at all ... We just do everything in a very empirical way, even art.'</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; "><br /></span></div><div>The gallery has been filled with <i>Mischief</i> now for a long time but the trails of red cord have not lost their sense of play. Noguiera's work asks, what can we do with material? And more pertinently for the current curatorial climate, what can we do with sculpture? As I follow trains of carrier bags, fibres, salvaged furniture and wasted materials the answer continually evades me, disappearing in to a hole in the floorboards or fading in to white wall space. However this is Noguiera's strength. She can lead us on this sculptural dance, this trail of discovery, which leaves cupboard doors ajar and unsettled, but never need offer us that final release. She is the cruel parent who leaves her children hiding in the game of Hide & Seek. Left in the dark alone we begin to doubt our purpose, we forget the point of the game and eventually come out in to the light with only our questions reaffirmed. As Adrian Searle wrote with such precision 'Her work reveals, it does not explain.' </div></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXa0HbQAHzFYKs3OvhpRTJebGeyx0bT5vUt46Qm2UfXAlJ5fVYymi1Ot45CZLsmKdEP-wc3NCBeJbfFKqS7H1etOcg-GzMX3ggEeW6eCtEwu1Uer-ban7zx2sUtyE19sXDciTKa_tJkKgt/s1600/mischief_web_0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXa0HbQAHzFYKs3OvhpRTJebGeyx0bT5vUt46Qm2UfXAlJ5fVYymi1Ot45CZLsmKdEP-wc3NCBeJbfFKqS7H1etOcg-GzMX3ggEeW6eCtEwu1Uer-ban7zx2sUtyE19sXDciTKa_tJkKgt/s400/mischief_web_0.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583153150115650482" /></a>If there was one sculpture which came closest to lucidity, to elucidating, then it was this Untitled sculpture (1989) made from metal, glass lenses and gauze. Through the lens on the left we see nothing more than what is there. In the right lens a deep tunnel has been created, a small glimpse in to the creation of an otherworld. As people view the exhibition they creep up close to the gauze and wire and peer in to this limitless abyss held in the small, round eye of the lens. The two possibilities are juxtaposed; sculpture that means and sculpture that does not. But if we are led towards a clear judgement here how do we apply it to the rest of our experience? The answer is that we can not, there is no one formula for interpretation and comment. <div><br /></div><div>The watercolours were poised in an expert tension with the brutal, barrenness of the sculpture. Bright, fluid shapes performing a dance of a different kind on the walls. Still a search for incidental and intentional forms persists, introducing a new means of mischief and continually stretching the capacity of its audience.</div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-29607784273975974712011-03-08T02:19:00.000-08:002011-03-08T02:34:44.853-08:00International Women's DayToday is International Women's Day. Which seems like the kind of day which deserves acknowledgement. The transition from Secondary School to an all girl's college at Cambridge cemented the beginnings of a feminist sentiment. I spent my first two years at university writing incessantly about women in novels, poems and stories from the Middle Ages to contemporary literature. The Feminist fervour all culminated in a dissertation on Angela Carter, fairytales and mothers. The one thing I had to lament, was that I had failed to justify illustrating my dissertation with Paula Rego's paintings and etchings, the ones I had studied in school and which had ignited the initial fire of interest.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtquPjziV0tTZ9LAtOtXhdiq8bKxAMNPiq4_3WtSrhkC7hrJWLL0xefcrsnWTNVAAtRemnfI624tLZOkFIgsEpvVTtq6Vm4THoTtP-3-LyePjXS1VorPErRpIP_YZKyrCOfSSkfPVDKCW/s1600/paula_rego.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtquPjziV0tTZ9LAtOtXhdiq8bKxAMNPiq4_3WtSrhkC7hrJWLL0xefcrsnWTNVAAtRemnfI624tLZOkFIgsEpvVTtq6Vm4THoTtP-3-LyePjXS1VorPErRpIP_YZKyrCOfSSkfPVDKCW/s400/paula_rego.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581653346945601042" /></a><br />Paula Rego is an amazing woman; as I read interviews and see powerful portraits such as this, my admiration for her only grows. Rego is brave and defiant and so is her work. It is afraid of no subject, no boundary or taboo. I wish I had more time to devote to Rego today, but I have to rush off to a supervision. So I will leave you with a series of paintings based on Snow White and let you read your own subversions in to it. The thing I love is the way Disney's vision of Snow White has been absorbed in to this contemporary reading of the relation between daughter and step mother.<div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3WEqws_6vazK3FUX6eDp-JnDyW7wMoEAJhHD9lDN4cBXFdFl-UXym8n9YGq9E8OQnigpo2oCJLqMtVCE_IHeRzT_CRx7ECn1D_ihLC0lSJ1HpQFc7Ik6UEXB_IynAvnBdf6F8rIjMrsWg/s1600/paula-rego-snow-white-and-her-stepmother.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3WEqws_6vazK3FUX6eDp-JnDyW7wMoEAJhHD9lDN4cBXFdFl-UXym8n9YGq9E8OQnigpo2oCJLqMtVCE_IHeRzT_CRx7ECn1D_ihLC0lSJ1HpQFc7Ik6UEXB_IynAvnBdf6F8rIjMrsWg/s400/paula-rego-snow-white-and-her-stepmother.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581654131826684242" /></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXQFiwO4z3bpl9a6py2Zm9WNy8xKc1bXwvZl0UFnYsVwLzwvKhPZ1c7FU7rpbQKhwaRNt4f2hAVr1wY1OVIMZ-dJkjJoB-724FbgvIQoWCOjq4JDJFTv1r6beSPHDf6j9yfOKqqmT3fds/s1600/20091202023843_paularegoswallows.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 356px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXQFiwO4z3bpl9a6py2Zm9WNy8xKc1bXwvZl0UFnYsVwLzwvKhPZ1c7FU7rpbQKhwaRNt4f2hAVr1wY1OVIMZ-dJkjJoB-724FbgvIQoWCOjq4JDJFTv1r6beSPHDf6j9yfOKqqmT3fds/s400/20091202023843_paularegoswallows.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581655361346307410" /></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPpIiGzcDtNtJsJriwx5v5WksW_AYeNxbBRFoIAybTTWDjKwL_FBbUF9RuwwelSkAsmrxbeEDeM6BF3rseFqjmDVCklNI2_Du4FdkkG1eoniL8sU_1__2FyeVr3FpJtolEx9cUoyn3mpM/s1600/Detail-from-Snow-White-Pl-004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPpIiGzcDtNtJsJriwx5v5WksW_AYeNxbBRFoIAybTTWDjKwL_FBbUF9RuwwelSkAsmrxbeEDeM6BF3rseFqjmDVCklNI2_Du4FdkkG1eoniL8sU_1__2FyeVr3FpJtolEx9cUoyn3mpM/s400/Detail-from-Snow-White-Pl-004.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581655043688416658" /></a></div><div>></div></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-21764050343515689152011-03-07T05:22:00.000-08:002011-03-07T05:39:44.110-08:00The OmnibusSo I succeeded in waking up on the right side of my bed this morning. The sun is shining with an intense brightness so that all of Cambridge is a reflective surface. I cycled in to town, gliding down quiet roads without tourists and went to Sainsburys hungry. I splurged and then typically couldn't fit my gluttonous load in to my bike basket. It didn't matter though, because the sun was shining and this meant that I was able to walk home. This expanded preface means that today is a good day.<div><br /></div><div>Anyway today I am trying to complete my dissertation draft. I am currently writing about Omnibuses as I stare out of my tall window through the great bare tree on to all the impetuous traffic.</div><div><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlfnT1qMgylObIpsb12O2hPJjOrFB0O2ZrmrRZBAjcGKCBW4i2CjJzxqCJ6YkxXkPxd-NaotvF6KTJY1WCPsl_lqyfYXqBJ7z7p1_XKth1SVKOVWSVeoHAxgSbq91oyI1sI-HGtQcoRZv/s1600/On+the+Omnibus%252C+1880.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlfnT1qMgylObIpsb12O2hPJjOrFB0O2ZrmrRZBAjcGKCBW4i2CjJzxqCJ6YkxXkPxd-NaotvF6KTJY1WCPsl_lqyfYXqBJ7z7p1_XKth1SVKOVWSVeoHAxgSbq91oyI1sI-HGtQcoRZv/s400/On+the+Omnibus%252C+1880.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581329505273413634" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>On the Omnibus, 1880, Maurice Delondre</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left; ">I did a quick google search in an attempt to find a painting which would capture Woolf and Dismorr's exciting sense of the freedom of the Omnibus. Delondre's painting of polite Victoriana is exactly the opposite of what I was looking for but it does give an illuminating glimpse in to that 'unmannerly throbbing vehicle' which Dismorr eventually escapes from. Woolf's omnibuses are 'garish caravans, glistening with red and yellow varnish' which 'swooped, settled, were off' and Dismorr's is a floating 'luminous balloon' 'all lit from within' by advertisements. True motifs of modernity which capture the excite of movement and its ultimate freedom. The closest I can get to representing this visually is Dismorr's <i>The Engine,</i> which I imagine pulsating at the heart of these Victorian ghosts: </div><span style="font-size:11.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB;mso-fareast-language:EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><br /></span></span><div><span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf4-0Cw0TPIchOWGtaLkoe3Owo6u7TLrw0xoMFils6P7wIeggRdnMfN5jgM9WFs0x1pmQg4H8D71oTvHVAgA46WScvUjhRUieMcRXxI0sXrYqKTOuum2qvwyasHzcybC8X9HGeWK2w_2tO/s1600/dismorr%252C+the+engine.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf4-0Cw0TPIchOWGtaLkoe3Owo6u7TLrw0xoMFils6P7wIeggRdnMfN5jgM9WFs0x1pmQg4H8D71oTvHVAgA46WScvUjhRUieMcRXxI0sXrYqKTOuum2qvwyasHzcybC8X9HGeWK2w_2tO/s400/dismorr%252C+the+engine.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581331878395708130" /></a></span></span></div><br />Apologies for my recent blogging silence...Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-15480307117842007422011-03-02T06:52:00.001-08:002011-03-02T07:37:27.844-08:00Dreaming in the Grey HouseI have to start by apologising for all these dreams, memories, glimmers of sentimentality, and, for using T.S Eliot again. As I write I am listening to Nat King Cole...that's the perfect nostaglic atmosphere completed. I am still writing my essay about dreams and performing my own wandering daydreaming of another kind simultaneously. Today Chagall's blue dreams are haunting me.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxktI7zf6m3Wb0NNlJD3VpuYLtqX68vVYAwzD132I2VHx_xZ4R9aOiSClS4lbWQFYhLs0bO-o0Bs6Y2gGkSz49shY540Gi2Pku3nDLgWoru5RXUpr6AwScGGLOM4NPiKrXgjLsa_7ZXCt/s1600/chaggall+grey+house.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 367px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxktI7zf6m3Wb0NNlJD3VpuYLtqX68vVYAwzD132I2VHx_xZ4R9aOiSClS4lbWQFYhLs0bO-o0Bs6Y2gGkSz49shY540Gi2Pku3nDLgWoru5RXUpr6AwScGGLOM4NPiKrXgjLsa_7ZXCt/s400/chaggall+grey+house.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579496058269333026" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Grey House, Marc Chagall</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left; ">' If you came this way,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Taking any route, starting from anywhere,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">At any time or at any season,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">It would always be the same: you would have to put off</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Sense and notion.'</div><div><i>T.S Eliot, Little Gidding</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>In <i>The Grey House</i> Marc Chagall was returning to and painting his hometown of Vitebsk. I wonder to what extent Chagall, painting on the outskirts on the route in to the town, is putting off 'sense and notion' and how much of this is a reminiscent indulgence. I remember seeing this painting in the Bornemisza Thyssen Museum, Madrid when I was ten and being particularly interested in the small, blended-grey figure of a man in the left corner. Is it Chagall himself? Memory certainly has the power to split the self, between here and now, there and then. We have a sense that Chagall's memories have gained the status of folklore; the cobbled path, the wooden cabin, could all be a part of the scenery of Hansel and Gretel. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I write this I remember that what I wanted to talk about was the dream-like qualities of Chagall. I am also realising that my knowledge of his work hinges on a single painting seen in Madrid and <i>The Bride</i> which Julia Roberts gives to Hugh Grant in Notting Hill. So although it may seem like an obvious choice here is <i>The Bride</i>. </div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAVHt4aqzv3K1Hy4H6tEgBl9ZsoCR8Zplud7vbtapRL2WzkUCOyF_1MuNWOWKS-eaNKiguzwVwoCbfZN37GpCeold7YTDNVmD2G4KFuN8ADOimMVyMgEvbcWfYW2Uhmt93r1nYArDOsCCR/s1600/chagall_la_mariee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAVHt4aqzv3K1Hy4H6tEgBl9ZsoCR8Zplud7vbtapRL2WzkUCOyF_1MuNWOWKS-eaNKiguzwVwoCbfZN37GpCeold7YTDNVmD2G4KFuN8ADOimMVyMgEvbcWfYW2Uhmt93r1nYArDOsCCR/s400/chagall_la_mariee.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579502577896531714" /></a><br />There is so much in this painting that recalls the medieval dream. The upward motion of the composition in which gravity appears to have dissolved is very evocative, I can't help but feel myself freeing from the world and floating in to the canvas. The Bride is illuminated, her red dress and ethereal veil drawing her from the blue even as she is absorbed in to it. At her veil is her dream guide, coaxing and encouraging. Then there is the small bestiary of animals that accompany her stiff dance in to the sky. This is like the anxious pre-wedding dream of a bride; it contains all of the fear and all of the excitement of this impending celebration. The blue of the painting is the typical dream-scape on which Chagall creates, but I think I need to do more reading before I can say more on this. <div><br /></div><div>Dreaming with Chagall is a beautiful, soothing diversion.</div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-15107027011902308522011-03-01T11:40:00.000-08:002011-03-01T12:02:43.513-08:00BelshazzarSo perhaps I had the blogger burn-out, maybe I was just too busy, perhaps I got too tired. I do feel I have been in one place too long though, I have seen no exhibitions to write about, I have Art burn-out, the Cambridge burn-out. My absence has still been relatively brief, but it feels like a long time to me. <div><br /></div><div>Anyway I have come to the crux of my essay for the week, I need to start writing but I'm not sure I know how to say what I want to express. I find myself dissecting my blog statistics as procrastination and discover some poetry in Google searches which have brought people to me; 'I need a book wandering bleak' is one, 'Secret Saturday dream space Thames' another. I feel I have a glimpse in to an anonymous soul. I see a woman wandering along the Thames on a Saturday searching for a secret place to sit and dream. Beneath a bridge perhaps? Where the steps lead you down to a small rocky section of beach, maybe?</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 32); font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><table align="center" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td><td valign="top" align="right"><br /></td></tr><tr><td></td><td valign="top" align="right"><span><a name="174"> </a></span></td></tr><tr><td><br /></td><td valign="top" align="right"></td></tr><tr><td>Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span><a name="176"> </a></span></td></tr><tr><td>The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span><a name="177"> </a></span></td></tr><tr><td>Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span><a name="178"> </a></span></td></tr><tr><td>Or other testimony of summer nights (T.S Eliot, The Waste land)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 32); font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">Anyway that will suffice as a daydream. </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I am struggling with my essay because of the anachronism of an argument which comes from my own post-Freudian experience of dreams and how this relates to Chaucer's medieval dream in <i>The House of Fame.</i> I am trying to write about language and inscriptions; because this is something which interests me about my own dreams. When I talk in my sleep it is often nonsense, I have dreamt in other languages and I have dreamt of writing poetry and reading. My dreams like Chaucer's are often literary. But as I wake the language I have encountered in my dreams always breaks down and is finally reduced to incomprehensibility. Rembrandt's painting of the vision of Belshazzar from the Book of Daniel is a wonderful example of the way conventional language eludes us in our dreams.<br /><div> </div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgkcQm3EGEoezrGX96piPnfcWMACQVxfZHESLwK5NilvmjTRczb_1WACs5l7rE8Sm_fjRHt7hPO6LBTEiTXbbYIElY2Assagv1uK-2GgRANoRxGIU6pstddslIdi1nHlXLuEsHVc8N57W/s1600/rembrandt-belshazzars-feast-NG6350-fm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgkcQm3EGEoezrGX96piPnfcWMACQVxfZHESLwK5NilvmjTRczb_1WACs5l7rE8Sm_fjRHt7hPO6LBTEiTXbbYIElY2Assagv1uK-2GgRANoRxGIU6pstddslIdi1nHlXLuEsHVc8N57W/s400/rembrandt-belshazzars-feast-NG6350-fm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579202135640287042" /></a><br /><br />This dream inscription, written by a disembodied hand is beyond the reading of most viewers and this puts us in the position of Belshazzar and his feasters, who are equally perplexed. We are drawn in to the sudden disruption of festivities and implicated in the questioning of and searching for meaning. <div><br /></div><div>So then what does it mean to be a writer of dreams? How do you inscribe a dream, when language is so difficult to grasp within it? </div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-60447668739160091832011-02-26T03:25:00.000-08:002011-02-26T03:43:15.811-08:00ExcavationsI'm not sure if you remember my disappointment at the Hughie O'Donoghue exhibition I went to see at Trinity Hall Cambridge. It was not how I had imagined it would be...Anyway here is a little virtual curation for you, without text because I am feeling so tired. This is the <i>Excavations</i> exhibitions I wanted to find; of bodies recuperated from postcards, from memory, from their immersion within history. The caborundums have a visceral quality; they look like traces of remains, they could be fossils left on the surface of stone, cave paintings, photo negatives. It is these prints which perform archaeologies and excavations, not those paintings I saw in the small room at Trinity Hall. <div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ZHhntK6US7U8f5QmpWjjiRL6ToF1razpQHHgAtaxoEbGZNYJPfwNt6l316MS0_FHEwuXT8MmCbuUbLpamHQmLN26U8tkMhsjOUFlpPkg6GMYD_uEQLcQfO-OTy_whx_0BwYWXEHkduOH/s1600/postcardfrommilano%2527donoghu.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ZHhntK6US7U8f5QmpWjjiRL6ToF1razpQHHgAtaxoEbGZNYJPfwNt6l316MS0_FHEwuXT8MmCbuUbLpamHQmLN26U8tkMhsjOUFlpPkg6GMYD_uEQLcQfO-OTy_whx_0BwYWXEHkduOH/s400/postcardfrommilano%2527donoghu.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577960647023314034" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Postcard from Milan</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qm7RWKoJXkg4HzOynoUBXthauYaYbsJlqPn7-pA9M_mhJSW8SZNMrPGisiXvJkxzrTYCcPaSL2AoPHKY9rl5Ar-IUMpYkdfqxAx6WuhLvOrN08_GNvow37r69Rynlcl3HBrwmVRnG-1O/s1600/postcardfrommilanhughiedonohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qm7RWKoJXkg4HzOynoUBXthauYaYbsJlqPn7-pA9M_mhJSW8SZNMrPGisiXvJkxzrTYCcPaSL2AoPHKY9rl5Ar-IUMpYkdfqxAx6WuhLvOrN08_GNvow37r69Rynlcl3HBrwmVRnG-1O/s400/postcardfrommilanhughiedonohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577960550746790210" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Postcard from Milan</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpLt47QASDMLoHPP6n6heoVtWPjssiQkhjgSMuG_l-NTOo37hd7Yd8PtJQ3MX3oJns41tbdFhRBNnU25Ki9DvJPoGvqp6tEO2PjboWbgMJzL0y9t45y-lbzlDcu-616KcfzrShKzc1myL/s1600/postcardfrommilanhdonohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdpLt47QASDMLoHPP6n6heoVtWPjssiQkhjgSMuG_l-NTOo37hd7Yd8PtJQ3MX3oJns41tbdFhRBNnU25Ki9DvJPoGvqp6tEO2PjboWbgMJzL0y9t45y-lbzlDcu-616KcfzrShKzc1myL/s400/postcardfrommilanhdonohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577960254534875426" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Postcard from Milan</i></span></div></i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbWN2ax-KeFj_XAMKC0VT5heafbv7uIIz5q0o2jWdqjhXzuB-iXFDAIkLg-0061-8rO5RILwc5knm8jkVepIdmUV7cAKOwsC32Q8Qv9km6_7diXmEHvvD3vwQrY_-1jFmclxVZ7PM4cPA/s1600/postcard+frommilandonohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjbWN2ax-KeFj_XAMKC0VT5heafbv7uIIz5q0o2jWdqjhXzuB-iXFDAIkLg-0061-8rO5RILwc5knm8jkVepIdmUV7cAKOwsC32Q8Qv9km6_7diXmEHvvD3vwQrY_-1jFmclxVZ7PM4cPA/s400/postcard+frommilandonohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577960149908419138" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Postcard from Milan</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH61D_2BhYTyu2G45Rs6NkeYLwGqxpHMLxvuBjo-vgXn6ofJ8glIXfi2XIYT8M41rd9su17Vu6GIvFIppBOYcDA6Kyh0955jtujQtNUqQIdhNtYIXac57J5xCX2iHP5Avnx4ZHkeTAmtp/s1600/postcard+from+milan.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 337px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH61D_2BhYTyu2G45Rs6NkeYLwGqxpHMLxvuBjo-vgXn6ofJ8glIXfi2XIYT8M41rd9su17Vu6GIvFIppBOYcDA6Kyh0955jtujQtNUqQIdhNtYIXac57J5xCX2iHP5Avnx4ZHkeTAmtp/s400/postcard+from+milan.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577960037076927714" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Postcard from Mila</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: center; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>n</i></span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: center; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjat1deq9Lep4WqErBAaDR1m6NIwM4rHRLWIDYD_sBRvXxOZR2uUa-Tg2roF58VkB_fxZLygjl607jmaKJYHXf0IiGR7t_-N4vX5unhD8wq7ADIeuhx5owOJnO30pBynCaFj0LoJQ7Ek82C/s1600/apolloo%2527donoghue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 349px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjat1deq9Lep4WqErBAaDR1m6NIwM4rHRLWIDYD_sBRvXxOZR2uUa-Tg2roF58VkB_fxZLygjl607jmaKJYHXf0IiGR7t_-N4vX5unhD8wq7ADIeuhx5owOJnO30pBynCaFj0LoJQ7Ek82C/s400/apolloo%2527donoghue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577959746509060114" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Apollo</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkA3Fq36ekhjH_Derhe43FSGkOmjOldGLD81oV7yukDV_Ai9yYhu-DBfd-VQjChUILSXbtj91-JD_fMth39UDYTeRDH-1jbQdXaWlTc4L1kUMNLwAl4kbr2yFrtZOKNYrZnrq7zlsWKKP_/s1600/bird+on+noah%2527s+head%252C+donohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkA3Fq36ekhjH_Derhe43FSGkOmjOldGLD81oV7yukDV_Ai9yYhu-DBfd-VQjChUILSXbtj91-JD_fMth39UDYTeRDH-1jbQdXaWlTc4L1kUMNLwAl4kbr2yFrtZOKNYrZnrq7zlsWKKP_/s400/bird+on+noah%2527s+head%252C+donohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577959434581530370" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Bird on Noah's Hea</i>d</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoxBYAqo7EQJN8-3mAO7KG42SjQmSWrA4vgem0F0aZfYw3EA20u9CXd0_C9EZ11mQtFLCabKfyL5dHUDvQqyikTUl140Tkdc6JnRTKl2HeBfafwUcLO9lk3w4IzcBrZdwaY8IQyfhVdix/s1600/noAH%2527s+capdonohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoxBYAqo7EQJN8-3mAO7KG42SjQmSWrA4vgem0F0aZfYw3EA20u9CXd0_C9EZ11mQtFLCabKfyL5dHUDvQqyikTUl140Tkdc6JnRTKl2HeBfafwUcLO9lk3w4IzcBrZdwaY8IQyfhVdix/s400/noAH%2527s+capdonohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577959273101571730" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Noah's Cap</i></span></div></i><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4fe_YJJT8BLnh0N3qJwMNCt5H6JtvRs2rhNzHRfxRw5K74FgRYdwNoHOO_RfQ55WJ_Q5y1GBGzlZfDOKHLwPht50VY3B-jY9Jj1dCNehvJsWzeFw6_5_716ylssyC5O9D0e0lyVLViGQ/s1600/noah+remembersdonhue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4fe_YJJT8BLnh0N3qJwMNCt5H6JtvRs2rhNzHRfxRw5K74FgRYdwNoHOO_RfQ55WJ_Q5y1GBGzlZfDOKHLwPht50VY3B-jY9Jj1dCNehvJsWzeFw6_5_716ylssyC5O9D0e0lyVLViGQ/s400/noah+remembersdonhue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577958839715371186" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Noah Remembered</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZDs3fO3iPFtD9ai4WLXEtRRK74vNTkYJaqPTJWxD83BGA302xsIiPhEFln6yh5X3ysjOQqvu1xVtKUpNk572Rn5kcvgUxE7EjpIKyIAdojpTu3Uj1aDymKBMR2Mp0FEJkdakmPcT7k34/s1600/immersionIIDONOHUE.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZDs3fO3iPFtD9ai4WLXEtRRK74vNTkYJaqPTJWxD83BGA302xsIiPhEFln6yh5X3ysjOQqvu1xVtKUpNk572Rn5kcvgUxE7EjpIKyIAdojpTu3Uj1aDymKBMR2Mp0FEJkdakmPcT7k34/s400/immersionIIDONOHUE.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577958607902920482" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Immersion II</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRZ3_4HyZP_m0mbtIj16H_F6UuX1yteSSzLwhVOjdm85SvViPzH2O3fwpKoOA0mHXx5X-EhRU2JsOozw4elArCrneQ-9gYtVRkyoGh-1ohZaAeqZRHz_pPE99bh0KFfu6tYNRFTpsGJSE/s1600/falling+cup+donohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRZ3_4HyZP_m0mbtIj16H_F6UuX1yteSSzLwhVOjdm85SvViPzH2O3fwpKoOA0mHXx5X-EhRU2JsOozw4elArCrneQ-9gYtVRkyoGh-1ohZaAeqZRHz_pPE99bh0KFfu6tYNRFTpsGJSE/s400/falling+cup+donohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577958153923707954" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Falling cup</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjus9obAfEqgcLK0lBJNEdQhpBkq3DUIJhHRe_X5SWt-lHdT0X1II8_bsfmaDIKcik7ptogYwlchimP-n9Pd8zMRRQ0BEqgN5ZajGoOcVTech3q90_XtsaD_qkLoUF9Uzto8SvkzVgaVgi5/s1600/residuesdonohue.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjus9obAfEqgcLK0lBJNEdQhpBkq3DUIJhHRe_X5SWt-lHdT0X1II8_bsfmaDIKcik7ptogYwlchimP-n9Pd8zMRRQ0BEqgN5ZajGoOcVTech3q90_XtsaD_qkLoUF9Uzto8SvkzVgaVgi5/s400/residuesdonohue.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577959133349856818" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Residues</i></span></div></i></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-38959397333998904842011-02-25T09:52:00.000-08:002011-02-25T10:10:40.913-08:00Dung Beetles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMT62f1yMP7GwBBhoTQ8qSn44-iqPKP4oBr6VdyJteKZ3PFLWzW7HNp8la6aPFuMJiL9Ukps67vTjGkiK1GrR0l70Ey9esaeDa_FBEJjEJqrn6IjKu9q22MKRtIU-IHtCQ6Eu44tFpAWL/s1600/BEETLES.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMT62f1yMP7GwBBhoTQ8qSn44-iqPKP4oBr6VdyJteKZ3PFLWzW7HNp8la6aPFuMJiL9Ukps67vTjGkiK1GrR0l70Ey9esaeDa_FBEJjEJqrn6IjKu9q22MKRtIU-IHtCQ6Eu44tFpAWL/s400/BEETLES.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577688035107383826" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewdunn/page4/"><i>Three Dung Beetle</i>s</a>- Wendy Taylor</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Today I went down to the staircase to try and get a photograph of our legendary beetle sculpture in college. However, following what has become a brutal tradition of vandalism, the beetles have been temporarily removed. The <i>Three Dung Beetle</i>s are an iconic piece of sculpture in the New Hall art collection, as the borrowed photograph shows their importance lies in their interaction with similarly iconic surroundings. The beetles dance in odd circles as the concrete staircase sweeps around them. It is this drama of architecture and sculpture which keeps the beetles here, despite the many drunken attempts to drive them out. A pattern of tricks is emerging. Students playing with the mischievous quality of the beetles throw them on to their heavy bronze backs and rearrange them in all kinds of positions. So for now the beetles, which are very much a part of our college, have been taken away from us. As a justified punishment for our lack of respect, and our inability to protect them from inebriated men (yes I am going to blame the men). But I hope they will return, as they always do, with their resilient thick, bronze skins.Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-77372280736486709692011-02-23T09:32:00.000-08:002011-02-23T10:03:04.871-08:00Michael KennaI have been gifted some beautiful books this week which combine some passions; photography and travel. Michael Kenna is one of the discoveries I made within the pages. Kenna has photographed Japan for years, his love of the country emerges in these soft landscapes which could be ink drawings. It is this point of metamorphosis between the tangible landscape and the incorporeal artist's fantasy which captivates me too. <div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvP2T91d02hOJB48Nf8pWV09mOlKLV51LyVAmhXsMZh1HxFqV6lx9kjoVlW6UqRrujG9jJDKJG_DgsGOJcPOVvPo86hf9PMeEkUE1W_10UF4UDlJuT0HMpTGZBAifqINgrDRN7O6cZaIN/s1600/kenna-01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvP2T91d02hOJB48Nf8pWV09mOlKLV51LyVAmhXsMZh1HxFqV6lx9kjoVlW6UqRrujG9jJDKJG_DgsGOJcPOVvPo86hf9PMeEkUE1W_10UF4UDlJuT0HMpTGZBAifqINgrDRN7O6cZaIN/s400/kenna-01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576942622236328114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOxD0bFJIPJPlxT6Ifau8FMlHzgmUc0r3JbAYtqg86qybbLC8ZHp59VSdsRPIQoBbId-GZHkM51HAN2MFXNmxif7hCRrXNLJ_8ZwZLt9KalxH-iI6J-tvUvCPrCw-0jKFxVCDiavwEt-C/s1600/animals%252Cbirds%252Cflight%252Cgraceful%252Cfly%252Csky-924c47c7c79b5df9de21abb7018af8db_h.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOxD0bFJIPJPlxT6Ifau8FMlHzgmUc0r3JbAYtqg86qybbLC8ZHp59VSdsRPIQoBbId-GZHkM51HAN2MFXNmxif7hCRrXNLJ_8ZwZLt9KalxH-iI6J-tvUvCPrCw-0jKFxVCDiavwEt-C/s400/animals%252Cbirds%252Cflight%252Cgraceful%252Cfly%252Csky-924c47c7c79b5df9de21abb7018af8db_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576942384928898770" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99aE9Y4BAt-1om9wZxcOMBfYYAMl6rrb9y7SVYkPo9zvTNin3j_Eyj1p5WTZIDdNiHrsr9ouZMviuikkJzqn5op-7do30MzKnv4Jy1YIf8arcTuXFP4B0QdDdxg-nsoX1WkvlcCRYR0FM/s1600/619308.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99aE9Y4BAt-1om9wZxcOMBfYYAMl6rrb9y7SVYkPo9zvTNin3j_Eyj1p5WTZIDdNiHrsr9ouZMviuikkJzqn5op-7do30MzKnv4Jy1YIf8arcTuXFP4B0QdDdxg-nsoX1WkvlcCRYR0FM/s400/619308.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576940933350534626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHRnuezHqCQbpaacKpKOZABoPOfq24Had98HQuBtKy_asW_W6tOoEE30vffug1JdyOv7JUpPAVmHCrccqyCRxGFpVyEizveByNv-dqw5ATynYfSYsgqd77v-s6gIXJSbTjspuKejd9ZiA/s1600/michael_kenna_27.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpHRnuezHqCQbpaacKpKOZABoPOfq24Had98HQuBtKy_asW_W6tOoEE30vffug1JdyOv7JUpPAVmHCrccqyCRxGFpVyEizveByNv-dqw5ATynYfSYsgqd77v-s6gIXJSbTjspuKejd9ZiA/s400/michael_kenna_27.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576939870752899858" /></a>Kenna writes 'Hokkaido has always been stark to me. There are towns and cities and traffic lights in places, yes, but the simplicity is what appeals to me. To be alone in the silence with only the sound of your heart beating and the snow falling...it's beautiful.'</div><div><br /></div><div>This soft, silent beauty perfectly fits my mood today. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another photograph of the Iguazu Falls on the border between Brazil and Argentina has also stirred my reflections, reminding me of this perfect piece of cinematography in Wong Kar Wai's <i>Happy Together.</i> This panoramic shot of the falls in the film never fails to make me weep. In the music and the motion there is absolute heartbreak and a stifling sense of loss. Genius.</div><div><br /></div><div><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/iQe6v0v_0uQ" frameborder="0"></iframe></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-81308950477842505572011-02-22T02:27:00.000-08:002011-02-22T02:59:03.909-08:00Paintings of TrinidadI love Chris Ofili. I appreciate his boyish fascination with elephant poo; he smuggled masses of it back in to the country from Africa and used it to mount and embellish his paintings, and even made one particular lump in to a self portrait, 'Shithead', which included old teeth and locks of his own hair. I also appreciate his humour, his bitter and brave play with black culture. When I saw <i>No Woman, No Cry</i> for the first time in the flesh it made me cry; partly because of the tragedy of Stephen Lawrence which it is a tribute to, but also because I had not expected the painting to be quite so big, or quite so overwhelmingly beautiful. I loved Chris Ofili because of, or despite all these things, but I love him even more now that he has spent a good long time maturing in the heat of Trinidad and emerged from night time jungle walks a painter. Because painters are a rare thing in the modern art world. Ofili proves his medium's validity with such torpidity and power. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiWAwoKN2SisBVZ6s35eDQeCbkGiPkP1nr7i1ycxATAvGBZ3M37NTCiOj-u5tGdESRX2MZPg5fUPI5X4gLVfnAbmvUeuOkaxB2kap4bod1-5LoTdM5er92rR_v8FFqu2Li4tI-pSLG14Y/s1600/raising+of+Lazarua.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiWAwoKN2SisBVZ6s35eDQeCbkGiPkP1nr7i1ycxATAvGBZ3M37NTCiOj-u5tGdESRX2MZPg5fUPI5X4gLVfnAbmvUeuOkaxB2kap4bod1-5LoTdM5er92rR_v8FFqu2Li4tI-pSLG14Y/s400/raising+of+Lazarua.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576462042620740962" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>The Raising of Lazarus, 2007</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center; ">'I wonder if biblical was always a way to get to the spiritual, for me. When you live somewhere like this, you just become aware of different types of energy. The place itself has an undeniable energy. The force of nature is overwhelming.<i style="font-style: normal; ">' </i><i>Ofili on painting in Trinidad</i></div><div style="text-align: center; "><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQDwnlipPc8mhn3P-iiLJUZMa_MKQWrlFEqPKWH1NpCwTr40WUqjtvqnszabREizfos7mjxhSzXkzwBROhW1Hhm3XrO9jSvnsz-cmG2tnvVqI3778pS5rffChoVIt7YWMNQwnMzFXiHbP/s1600/ID_57_OFILI.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQDwnlipPc8mhn3P-iiLJUZMa_MKQWrlFEqPKWH1NpCwTr40WUqjtvqnszabREizfos7mjxhSzXkzwBROhW1Hhm3XrO9jSvnsz-cmG2tnvVqI3778pS5rffChoVIt7YWMNQwnMzFXiHbP/s400/ID_57_OFILI.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576461644970887954" /></a><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>The Healer, 2008</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><div style="text-align: center; ">'I painted the first images of The Healer outdoors during a total lunar eclipse. He is born of the imagination sparked by forms in the clouds hovering over the hills at night. The figure of The Healer is a very dark character, black in fact, who feeds on the bright yellow of the sun.' Ofili</div></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHygIDv1USZ6v5AB5p181qhRKQvh-KBzboKUlHaZcpKGjkASVRZox_0NQc8quE8INHXuw1u7UWiQRKRESoXHhyphenhyphene5HyS5Qgby6lcsCO6TLEEPB19cZlAMvV9XQWvZQR6IX0vs2172BwcYJ/s1600/ID_62_OFILI.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHygIDv1USZ6v5AB5p181qhRKQvh-KBzboKUlHaZcpKGjkASVRZox_0NQc8quE8INHXuw1u7UWiQRKRESoXHhyphenhyphene5HyS5Qgby6lcsCO6TLEEPB19cZlAMvV9XQWvZQR6IX0vs2172BwcYJ/s400/ID_62_OFILI.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576461568924876210" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Habio Green Locks, 200</i>9</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><div style="text-align: center; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">'I've found that the night and twilight here enhances the imagination. In the city our relationship to the night is very particular because it's always illuminated, but here it's unlit, so you're relying on the light of the moon and sensitivity of the eyes. It's a different level of consciousness that is less familiar to me, and stimulating through a degree of fear and mystery.' </span>Chris Ofili on painting in Trinidad</i></div></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7453020696037086897.post-9880358251358483512011-02-20T01:20:00.000-08:002011-02-20T02:00:39.318-08:00Sunday SelectionsBack to <a href="http://frogpondsrock.com/2011/02/sunday-selections-7/">Sunday Selections</a> again, which is always fun! This week my images are from a Buddhist mountain village in China called Wutai Shan. One day, when exploring the temples, we stumbled upon the preparations for a festival. What amazed me were the repetitions; candles and peaches laid out in rows, and flowers and mushrooms lying to dry on the ground. <div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62rQlLBllQxtzOA2WwX5K6KqHvcEwJ1w1-kn89EXaBuN9ZydrcZggqXd8MesCwadHmH5KIfxBzoZzh6ojMo1gbYqT9ZjgfThUB_Dp08-Z79yWr8cdcxAakIrhMTKSEht8CbHBugQySu2h/s1600/china+1148.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62rQlLBllQxtzOA2WwX5K6KqHvcEwJ1w1-kn89EXaBuN9ZydrcZggqXd8MesCwadHmH5KIfxBzoZzh6ojMo1gbYqT9ZjgfThUB_Dp08-Z79yWr8cdcxAakIrhMTKSEht8CbHBugQySu2h/s400/china+1148.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575708534229473234" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij4hK8d7y6bYIGQ0pySnkYeZf9kiLUmClHaDYCSPQkxuv9yoRjQm12DijqKYVB8y5sX7wG6jm3f6uICg87DNZ0I8SqJIdaa0lCZ6p2v7X0xZBUWuLpHb7qOcgjXCP_49Oio1ohPY5eoMYC/s1600/china+1155.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij4hK8d7y6bYIGQ0pySnkYeZf9kiLUmClHaDYCSPQkxuv9yoRjQm12DijqKYVB8y5sX7wG6jm3f6uICg87DNZ0I8SqJIdaa0lCZ6p2v7X0xZBUWuLpHb7qOcgjXCP_49Oio1ohPY5eoMYC/s400/china+1155.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575708338642520482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdmQXvtflcuyYWost6pfsxe9eBm1dHouUqQP-iWWwJsXHLRmSRKZFKGoz8W718glOUyYaYbq3UDO2fjtn51nV45x8Im5vktYL_z1X0sdjVqOhlHcU9STce2et-3nXRELgegXG9n0QVTOG/s1600/china+1154.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdmQXvtflcuyYWost6pfsxe9eBm1dHouUqQP-iWWwJsXHLRmSRKZFKGoz8W718glOUyYaYbq3UDO2fjtn51nV45x8Im5vktYL_z1X0sdjVqOhlHcU9STce2et-3nXRELgegXG9n0QVTOG/s400/china+1154.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575707784250670498" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbP7-fc6KvQHOcgV2hwubkBZj1XJh1HRJPK2F_EaaH2KtQgseqqt9LlpbshXYabJi49B_SY6V1oTMpAgThyhfRa7P0begWh_EOCnCNITfjFoWq2Q3Wc7zc78XQQZYWcYD0zzNxIKUH-ym/s1600/china+1153.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbP7-fc6KvQHOcgV2hwubkBZj1XJh1HRJPK2F_EaaH2KtQgseqqt9LlpbshXYabJi49B_SY6V1oTMpAgThyhfRa7P0begWh_EOCnCNITfjFoWq2Q3Wc7zc78XQQZYWcYD0zzNxIKUH-ym/s400/china+1153.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575707478671214546" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIITyhN-5LajiSJfmNA2pDtReIEUHF42VK5YNH0Q6qwajOjkLNbesU26yWF9NGPmiT5XnLNYC2PMQprKzDtkMbfkmz91LYXC-9K9CFSHGY7-G1NwM6HPT7HHTO00748C-Vc1Ix9zhILzP/s1600/china+1157.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIITyhN-5LajiSJfmNA2pDtReIEUHF42VK5YNH0Q6qwajOjkLNbesU26yWF9NGPmiT5XnLNYC2PMQprKzDtkMbfkmz91LYXC-9K9CFSHGY7-G1NwM6HPT7HHTO00748C-Vc1Ix9zhILzP/s320/china+1157.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575707307295463490" /></a><br /></div>Frangipanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05419535400884652590noreply@blogger.com8