Monday, April 19, 2010

Getting Calder

As a lazy man once said, I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like. Beyond the usual pretty stuff – Rodin, Klimt, Miro – I love art that’s witty, not pretentious, occasionally humorous, and with a good back story. Enter Alexander Calder.

I hadn’t heard of him before I went to New York, but once there I bumped into his work so many times we must be meant to be. First I stumbled into an exhibition of his jewellery at the Met. They weren’t your average baubles – no gold or jewels here. Calder used brass wire, curled into spirals, hammered into flat shapes, making spiky necklaces and head-dresses. I would later learn that this is Calder to a tee- using simple, everyday materials to make quirky yet beautiful and functional pieces. One lovely piece was a brooch called “V For Victory” – designed in 1944 to celebrate the end of the war, it was modelled around the morse code.


A few days later I discovered a Calder retrospective at the Whitney, a gallery that specialises in American art. Here I saw some of the abstract “mobiles” he’s famous for. But what I found most interesting, and the exhibition was beautifully curated to tease this out, was his creative evolution to that point.


The exhibition focused on "The Paris Years", where he went to study and work on his art in the late 1920s, aged around 28. Prior to that he had become quite well known for his cartoons and sketches - beautifully vivid linework devastating in its simplicity. There were lively ink and watercolour sketches of various animals at the Bronx Zoo - Calder actually put out a book for children with tips for how to draw animals. His parents were both artists, and though he showed talent and inclination as a child - making toys and "valentines" for his parents, as well as drawing - they encouraged him to complete his studies as a mechanical engineer.

Before he went to Paris he was regularly published in The New Yorker and other publications with his idiosyncratic impressions of city life, Central Park, and his lifelong obsession: the circus.

When he got to France, Calder started making his wire 3D caricatures of people. The shadows they cast add another dimenson.


He was particularly enamoured of the exotic Negress performer Josephine Baker, making about five full sculptures of her - although apparently at the time all of Paris was obsessed with her. Something to do with her penchant for topless Charleston-dancing perhaps?!

At the time he was regularly moving between Paris and New York. There is a proliferation of drawings and sculptures from this time, caricatures of notable people, but mostly animals and circus acts. With a bit of a performer's streak himself, Calder was not satisfied merely with vividness - he wanted actual movement. And so he created his circus figurines, with mechanisms and puppet-like cues, and began to perform with them. He took his circus back to the US regularly and soon his props and the equipment for their maintenance filled five large trunks.



I couldn't take photos and didn't dare try to draw his works, but they were unspeakably lifelike despite their simplicity. The exact curve of a horse's neck, or a monkey's tail. And witty too - a cow sculpture had a spiral wire cowpat in its wake, while "pigs" showed the boar mounting the sow and a baby piglet formed inside her belly!

Anyway - after visiting Piet Mondrian's studio a few years later, Calder suddenly "got" the concept of abstraction in a blinding flash of inspiration. He rushed out a series of drawings, floating disconnected objects and lines in space, and set about making them into sculptures.


Again, the concept movement in space drove him, and many of these sculptures included motors to facilitate movement.
The "mobile" was his breakthrough - weighted objects suspended from the ceiling, that needed only the slightest breeze or push to set them in motion.


My favourite was just a small ball and a larger iron ball suspended on wire from the ceiling, with a scattering of glass bottles, tin cans, wooden crates and a small gong around it in a circle on the floor. The sculpture swayed slightly in the air, the small ball ever tantalisingly close to knocking into something. Because, drawing on that circus performer's instinct, the piece was all about anticipation. Most magical of all was that a guy would come in periodically with what looked like a huge cotton swab, to poke the mobile ever so gently and make it dance! What an awesome job.

I'm struggling to put it into words here but I just loved the sense of Calder as this guy so enthusiastic about life, the world, art, performance. He saw the world around him, loved it, and made all his glorious miniature homages. Saw the elegant simplicity in nature, drew it without lifting his pen from the page, and transferred that confident, unerring design aesthetic into sculpture, performance and craft.

Monday bike love

Holy convergence of sexy things! Bikes + Pantone colours + Sweden:

In conjunction with Milan Design Week, the Italian bicycle manufacture, Abici launched four new Pantone colours to ride including Turquoise 15-5519 and Mimosa 14-0848.
(For The Love of Bikes)
But wait! There's more!

Note Design Studio have designed a unique Stockholm line for the stylish Italian bicycle manufacture Abici, where the colors from four different iconic buildings in Stockholm have inspired the colors of the bicycles. There is a yellow, a red-orange, a white and a blue, — can you guess the buildings that inspired them?
(Design Milk via For The Love Of Bikes)


Delicious.... As is the back-rack basket Alison now has on the Heartbreaker, courtesy of her new lover. (That's Big Red in the backround, naked of baskets and nonplussed) Not that I'm jealous or anything...

Can you tell I'm on deadline?!

Sunday, April 18, 2010

This week's flowers...

... they smell amazing.

And it was nearly worth working on a Sunday to cop this sunset on the way home. Nearly.

Whatever you want


Paul Dempsey played a sold out Metro last night, with Dan Kelly in support. Dan's an old favourite of mine, but times have changed since his grungy bedroom blues with the Alpha Males, and his trajectory through yacht rock seems to have culminated in some new tunes and a new band. A band which, to a man, wore sarongs. And hats - the drummer in a pith helmet, DK himself with an old-school aviator's helmet atop his head like a leather condom.

He's never been short on confidence - albeit delivered with an idiosyncratic insecure swagger - and made the ballsy move of closing his set with two new songs. Definitely interested to hear his new album, Dan Kelly's Dream, but I think his astounding debut Sing The Tabloid Blues will always be my favourite. The boys I went to the show with found him hilarious: "I'm Dan Kelly and this is my band, Dan Kelly and the Dan Kellys, now here's a new song from my new album Dan Kelly's Dream - it's called 'I'm Dan Kelly singing about being Dan Kelly'".

Not sure why I was suprised that the venue was so packed for Paul Dempsey. In all the times I've seen him play as frontman of Something For Kate the band has always rocked it, and his solo material is great. Plus he's a strappingly tall, fairly gorgeous dude with an amazing gravelly voice. From the first song he owned the crowd, and they sang along every word from Everything Is True.



But best of all were the covers. SFK used to do a killer "Rock The Casbah", and sure enough Dempsey picked a couple of classics - totally unexpected but well enough known for everyone to go nuts. He did "Miss You" and "Born To Run". Can you even imagine? And THEN he did what my friends and I had decided not to get our hopes up about, and played some Something For Kate. And not just any song, but "Whatever You Want", the opener to my favourite album Beautiful Sharks.



Le sigh. So it was a way more energetic show than I was expecting, and the crowd really lifted it to another level. Unfortunately cameras weren't allowed (which I didn't realise until after I took photos of Dan Kelly!) and I had had one too many gins to pull off the stealthy paparazzi moves. So please content yourself with grainy YouTube footage....

Saturday, April 17, 2010

West End story

If ever you find yourself in Brisbane on a Friday night, here's my recipe for an outstanding evening. You will need:
  • shoes comfortable enough for a good few hours' dancing and stumbling
  • at least two fabulous friends
  • a functioning sense of humour
  • little to no dignity
Step 1: Preparatory beers at the Boundary Hotel in West End
From the sticky tiles to the toothless regulars, the Boundary is the kind of pub that's almost impossible to find these days, at least outside of small towns. The barmaids are surly, but you can hardly blame them when you consider their clientele. It's grotty and unpredictable and without fail the house sound system plays Fleetwood Mac and Neil Young's Harvest. With the scale of development in West End (the HiFi Bar is next door), this utopia may not last. Revel in the filth while you can.

Step 2: Dinner at Green Bamboo
At least, I think that's the name of the place. It's a block or so down toward Vulture St from the Boundary, and serves up super cheap, super delicious Vietnamese/Chinese food. BYO some cheap wine from the Boundary bottle-o (friends and I have found critical mass at one bottle per person) and be sure to order the salt-and-pepper whole flounder. (pictured) It will blow your mind. But the lights are very bright and sooner or later you're going to want to head...

Step 3: Back to the Boundary for Blind Dog
Best bluesman I've ever seen, with the possible exception of an amazing night in a Bleecker St club, is Blind Dog. He wears a top hat, and along with a revolving-door cast of backing players has had the Boundary's Friday night residency for as long as I've known the pub to exist. He's ubiquitous around West End, and the folklore goes that he could have been a huge star and followed his talent anywhere - but he found Brisbane's going rate for heroin the most agreeable and never left. The dancefloor packs out for his laidback blues jams, and it's also fun now and then to indulge in a sport we like to call "slut or prostitute?". You never know who you'll bump into. But you can be assured of a memorable evening. Let's danz!

Manic pixie dream girl

It was The Onion AV Club’s film critic Nathan Rabin who coined the term "Manic Pixie Dream Girl", as part of a review of Cameron Crowe's painful flop Elizabethtown. The MPDG is a stock character usually found in indie films penned by morose hipster dudes; identifiable by her sprightly cuteness, delightfully zany demeanour, and the fact she seems to exist only to inspire the male protagonist. And she's petite. They’re always bloody tiny. Quoth Rabin:

The Manic Pixie Dream Girl exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is an all-or-nothing-proposition. Audiences either want to marry her instantly (despite The Manic Pixie Dream Girl being, you know, a fictional character) or they want to commit grievous bodily harm against them and their immediate family.

They are the girls of Garden State, Elizabethtown, Almost Famous... Ever since Natalie Portman passed Zach Braff her headphones promising the Shins would change his life, or Kate Hudson gently rearranged Patrick Fugit’s face to make him “mysterious”, or Kirsten Dunst made the most impossible road-trip-scavenger-hunt-mix-tape for Orlando Bloom, the bar has been raised for real life girls who hope to fall in love with non-threateningly cute nice boys with decent taste in music.

So I got to thinking about MPDGs because I finally watched 500 Days of Summer last night. In this case the lovely Zooey Deschanel is the MPDG to Joseph Gordon Levitt’s foolishly romantic greeting-card-writer. It was a pretty film to see and hear, gussied up with a self-consciously hip soundtrack and twee directorial touches like impromptu musical numbers, flashes of animation, and of course the hopscotch timeline-jumping structure.




I had high hopes for this movie, and I was conscious of it pushing all my buttons. Everything - from Summer’s toile wallpaper and vintage dresses, to the 70s-faux-timber veneers of the karaoke bar and stuttering sunlight filtering through train windows - seemed calculated to seduce a certain kind of self-conscious retrophile Gen Y. In its way, the film is just as mannered as A Single Man.

But for all the elevator meet-cutes and playing-house-in-IKEA dates, for all its surface beauty to make you wriggle with pleasure, the characters are pretty hard to like. Sure, Summer is gorgeous and you can totally see why sales increased by a couple hundred percent the summer she worked at the ice-cream shop. But she’s also kinda hollow behind the quirk, and emotionally detached to the point of being almost sociopathic – though she is totally upfront from the beginning that she doesn’t want a relationship.

And what of our hero, the hangdog Tom, whose every facial expression retains something of the puppy looking up with unshakeable admiration of the one who keeps kicking him? He victims out on how Summer screwed him over, when he was the one who took it as a challenge when she said she didn’t believe in love.

This emptiness is a classic MPDG side-effect, as the fabulous Rachel Hills articulated well on her blog, Musings of an Inappropriate Woman:

In a way, it felt like [Elizabethtown’s] Claire and [Garden State’s] Sam were male fantasies of an alternative ideal woman with about as much real depth as a paddling pool - on the surface, they seemed like women of substance, but they didn’t act like real people. Unlike the male characters, their actions didn’t seem to result from logical motives. They existed purely as catalysts to help their respective male protagonists along on their journeys.

You can sense a hefty dose of fantasy fulfilment from the film-maker, which is perhaps not entirely accidental when you consider Tom’s trajectory and the fact his little sister has to tell him “next time you look back on it all, don’t just think about the good stuff”. But all the cultural references feel a little forced – The Smiths are the band they first bond over? Tom is blown away because Summer can carry a conversation about Salinger short stories? Really?? If you’re going to be so condescending about how cultured these crazy kids are, at least try to amp up the obscurantism.

But perhaps I’m too cynical. I did, after all, watch the movie at home alone on a Friday night, to dull the squeamishness of accidentally glimpsing via Facebook my ex cavorting with bikini-clad, barely-legal backpackers throughout Asia. I may not be the person this movie was made for. Then again, I might be exactly that person.

Homework:

The AV Club lists 16 films featuring MPDGs throughout the ages

Jezebel’s take on the feminist implications of the MPDG


Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Hump day poetry


I wear the beret
For le bad hair day
But my colleagues
Just think it's le ghey

Autumn is well and truly here - crisp mornings and evenings where the darkness falls fast and heavy. There's something penetrating about the sunshine at this time of year - all light and no heat.

Instituted a laptop ban last night and consequently slept over eight hours. Feels weird not to sleepwalk through the morning for a change...