Thursday, April 30, 2009

Apollo and Dionysius

I've been thinking about what Robert said (about Nietzsche's take on art):


Art can take the darkest parts of humanity


http://www.genetologisch-onderzoek.nl/wp-content/image_upload/tim-noble-sue-webster3.jpg
Tim Noble and Sue Webster, Dirty White Trash (With Gulls) 1998

and turn them into beautiful things.


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Tim Noble and Sue Webster, Dark Stuff, 2008
Various Mummified Animals, metal stand, light projector. British Museum

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Why it's dangerous to play with art

Spot the difference: council sets off smoke alarm


Now you see it, now you don't … Antonio Dattilo-Rubbo's The Artist and The Model. Manly council digitally removed two cigarettes from the painting.

Now you see it, now you don't … Antonio Dattilo-Rubbo's The Artist and The Model. Manly council digitally removed two cigarettes from the painting.

Louise Schwartzkoff
April 23, 2009

LIKE many men of his generation, the late artist Antonio Dattilo-Rubbo loved tobacco. In the dozens of self-portraits he painted before his death in 1955, he is often pictured with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

But when Manly Council decided to honour the former Manly resident with an exhibition and website, Dattilo-Rubbo's vice collided with the council's strict anti-smoking policy.

In an online news release advertising a website about the painter's life and art, one of his self-portraits - The Artist And The Model - was painstakingly altered by a member of the council's communications team. One smoking cigarette was airbrushed from the artist's mouth, a second was banished from an ashtray on the table.

The incident comes a week after France was outraged by advertisements showing the iconic French comedian Jacques Tati without his signature pipe. In posters promoting an exhibition at the Cinematheque Francaise, Tati's pipe was replaced by a toy windmill, a concession to France's strict anti-smoking laws.

Manly Council is also renowned for its anti-smoking stance. In 2004, it was the first local government area in Australia to forbid smoking at its beaches. It has also banned smoking at al fresco dining areas, sporting grounds and within 10 metres of the entrances to council buildings.

The art consultant David Hulme, who was commissioned to create the Dattilo-Rubbo website by the council-operated Manly Art Gallery and Museum as part of its 80th anniversary celebrations, said he was shocked by the intervention.

"It's ridiculous that this could happen," he said. "[Smoking] is what the artist was known for … It was not appropriate to take that cigarette out of his mouth. It was part and parcel of the man."

Yesterday the council insisted the case of the disappearing cigarettes was all a simple mistake.

A member of its management team had instructed a staff member in its communications department to remove the artwork featuring the cigarette.

Unfortunately, the instruction was misinterpreted and the staff member removed the cigarettes from the artwork instead. "Manly Council is a proud supporter of the arts and we would be opposed to any censorship - perceived or otherwise," the spokeswoman said.

Oddly, the "misinterpretation" was not spotted by the council for several months - the news release first appeared in late January. But within hours of being contacted by the Herald yesterday, the missing cigarette had reappeared in the image on the council's website.


found at: http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/arts/spot-the-difference-council-sets-off-smoke-alarm/2009/04/22/1240079731177.html

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

It's the same thing, it's just going laterally now, it doesn't seem to be going forward.

IR 29/5/09
The reason I included this article (apart from the jokes) was the line I used in the title. It reminded me of Hegel's end of art theory, and I imagined art as a river - for some reason- Hegel's claim as a giant brick wall in the middle of it and the multitude of artworks that really seem to say the same thing as overflowing laterally from the river and outside of it. Somehow this inspired me to write my essay, the connection between Dylan Moran and Hegel (and after research, Heidegger too) so far remote and yet influential.


I was reading a pretty unrelated yet funny article on Dylan Moran and his comedy. And I'll include it here for record's sake:

found at: http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/arts/arts-reviews/dylan-moran/2009/04/16/1239474985449.html?page=fullpage#contentSwap1


Dylan Moran

Lenny Ann Low
April 17, 2009
Ride 'em in … Dylan Moran played to 65,000 people on his last tour here.

Ride 'em in … Dylan Moran played to 65,000 people on his last tour here.
Photo: Quentin Jones

IF THERE is anyone who is unimpressed with recent advances in communication devices it is Dylan Moran. The 37-year-old Irish comedian, long disconcerted by aspects of modern living, cannot understand the current technological obsession with enhanced speed and accessibility.

"I'm amazed because it's the same stuff but quicker," he says on the eve of touring What It Is, his fourth live show in Australia. "All that's going to be at the end of the line is another bozo and you can just reach them quicker. Or they can reach you quicker.

"And they can reach you through your ear, you can wear it on your head, you can have it on your back pocket and in your bath. Just lying down [means it] takes a picture of you.

"It's the same thing, it's just going laterally now, it doesn't seem to be going forward. It's just: 'Where can we put the computer chip? Put it in the cat.' And you feel like whatever it is, there would be a queue for it. You could get some kind of electrified cow-pat and people would get in a queue to buy it."

During Moran's successful career, as an award-winning stand-up comedian, as the well-loved character Bernard Black in the hit television series Black Books and in roles in films such as Notting Hill, Shaun Of The Dead, Run Fatboy Run and coming Irish black comedy A Film With Me In It, he has regularly been described as a disgruntled, shambling miserabilist but hilarious with plenty of charm and a lot of intelligence.

The intelligence may explain Moran's general dislike of explaining his comedy, of years of being asked, "How did you get to be so funny?" and "Where do you get your ideas?" (one extra on his stand-up DVD Monster features Moran in a mock backstage interview reacting to this question).

He reckons he has, however, stopped avoiding queries about his passion for performing live. "I do, I do love it," he says.

"It took me years to realise that if I don't do it regularly, every year or so I get very odd. I start wandering around the house with a lost expression on my face opening cupboards and staring into them."

What need is satisfied by performing?

"I have no idea. To a certain extent, you know, you don't mess with the mysteries. I don't think I even want to know. It probably says something really clinically terrible about my character that I need to get up on a stage and go 'Ra ra ra' in front of people.

"Years ago I would have tried to put some spin on it and said it was just for me to know. You know: 'I can't talk about it, it's very personal.' Or say it means nothing. One extreme or another.

"But the truth is, it is all about that laugh, that feeling of release. Because I get off on it just as much as anybody who's enjoying it."

This is a good thing, as, with each new tour, his season dates extend further due to popular demand. Moran's previous Australian tour, featuring nearly 40 shows, played to more than 65,000 people.

He has been "bingeing on Australiana", finding out all the news and talking points.

"This tall-poppy syndrome is a real thing isn't it, still? That's a really big part of the culture, that if anybody seems to be getting above themselves, you cut them down to size really quick. It's very similar in Ireland. The old saying there was that it was the only place in the world where somebody would spend 20 minutes crossing a crowded room to come over and tell you you were a c---."

After the tour, Moran is keen to further his writing projects and is interested in writing a film. His most recent big-screen experience, A Film With Me In It, written by and co-starring award-winning Irish playwright Mark Doherty, he describes as the film he is "most proud of ever".

"We had no money, we were shooting in Dublin in the dark for most of it and we were using Mark's actual flat as the set. That's how little money we had. It was like we were able to do a dinner for 12 with a stock cube and a bun."

But Moran is the last to herald his film career as a burgeoning wonder.

"My film career is based on this. I get a phone call once every 18 months from some mad person who wants me to do something for less than no money and they give me about a week's notice.

"That's my film career, most of the time."

DYLAN MORAN - WHAT IT IS

April 28, 8pm, Opera House, 9250 7777, $67.90 and May 2-5 and 14-15, 8pm, State Theatre, city, 136 100, $67.90.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Ballet and deconstructinist fashion

- This is an article poached from the Australian Ballet's blog www.behindballet.com -

divergrh

When Zandra Rhodes stitched scissoring seams onto her dresses in 1967, she unknowingly kicked off the deconstructionist fashion movement that would dominate the 90s. Thirty years later Versace proved that Liz Hurley’s dress could be fastened by nothing but a handful of safety pins, and Jean-Paul Gaultier put a pair of cones on Madonna.
There were countless exposed zips, damaged edges and shamelessly sewn-on-the-outside patches. Industrial synthetics became everyday wear and PVC catsuits roamed nightclubs. Design houses
Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto and John Galliano were among those flirting with anti-fashion, presenting self-consciously subversive collections for over a decade.



In 1994 Vanessa Leyonhjelm embodied the 90s deconstructionist movement by creating a convention-bending line of costumes for The Australian Ballet’s Divergence. Tutus were made out of the mesh from air-conditioning ducts and were sent to an automotive painter to stain them black. Her designs resonated, zeitgeist-like, with Gaultier’s cones for Madonna when she turned car upholstery into breastplates and fashioned a breathtaking female shape.
In 2009, 90s style isn’t just coming back via The Olsen Twins’ wardrobe of tattered fishnets and Doc Marten boots; the costumes from Divergence can be witnessed again in
Paris Match this year, while the National Gallery of Victoria’s Remaking Fashion exhibit (showing until 19 April) looks at the practical side of the 90s fashion wave: the exposed seams, patches and dressmaking process that made deconstructionist fashion.
Robyn Hendricks in Divergence. Photograph Tim Richardson

CHRISTIAN DIOR, Paris couture houseest. 1946John GALLIANO designerborn Gilbraltar 1960, emigrated to England 1966,worked in France 1991–Dress model no. 39 2000, spring–summer designed,2003 made, The tramp collectionsilk, paint, lacquer, metal, viscose, nylon, paint, leatherNational Gallery of Victoria, MelbournePresented through the NGV Foundation by Norma and Stuart Leslie, Governors, 2002

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Mirrored Years

I went to the MCA a couple of days ago to try and galvanise this blog. I was also drawn (shamefully enough) to one of the exhibitions after seeing an ad in Vogue on whom I thought was a crazy looking Japanese lady, and later turned out to be the influential Yayoi Kusama (who said empirical knowledge didn't affect an aesthetic judgment? nuts to you, Kant). Just looking her up on Wikipedia, I found an interesting quote. But first, here's some background:


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From Wiki

Born in Matsumoto, Nagano Prefecture, Kusama has experienced hallucinations and severe obsessive thoughts since childhood, often of a suicidal nature. She claims that as a small child she suffered severe physical abuse by her mother.

Early in Kusama's career, she began covering surfaces (walls, floors, canvases, and later, household objects and naked assistants) with the polka dots that would become a trademark of her work. The vast fields of polka dots, or "infinity nets," as she called them, were taken directly from her hallucinations.


and later

Today she lives, by choice, in a mental hospital in Tokyo, where she has continued to produce work since the mid-1970s. Her studio is a short distance from the hospital.

In essence, Kusama leads her hyperaware lifestyle in a mannter best expressed by this mantra:

"If it were not for art, I would have killed myself a long time ago."

The art born from this unbelievable intense philosophy is astonishing. Admittedly, while her paintings are interesting, and the MCA's placement of her main infinity nets echo a bit of Rothko (in the sense that the physical space combined with the art seems to extend beyond the gallery itself, for Kusama, they suggests some sort of hypnotical, organic infinity with traces of eyes, muscle cells, faces, flowers) Kusama, in my opinion, best expresses her concept of the transcendental infinite - the sublime - through her installations.



Fireflies in the Water 2000 lightbulbs, water, mirror room 300 x 450 x450

Simple in structure but resulting in complex visual deceit, Kusama addresses the beautiful and sublime simultaneously in a manner that constantly reminds us of our own crappy mortality. Stepping inside Fireflies in the Water immediately seemed to transport us into an infinite, serene galaxy where only you and another three strangers existed. Kusama later becomes tongue in cheek below.


Infinity Mirror Room - Phalli's Field, 1965


The little soft cutesy tubes lose their appeal once you discover they have a strange phallic resemblance, and you're essentially trapped with an infinite number of poxy penis tentacles.
While Kusama's infinity rooms can make you feel alienated from whilst belonging to her strange atmosphere, her final installation in the MCA exhibition is kinder to the receptor.





The installation comprised of a typical suburban dining/living room, whose contents were decidedly generic and familiar. Ingeniously, the room was lighted by UV lamps and Kusama installed thousands of polka dots (her signature pattern) over every surface of the room, except of course, the vistors, who responded with many astonished gasps. The effect was another welcoming infinity net, linking everything at once together and, although the human was not linked, he, too felt a part of the comfortable setting. Her idea of a greater transcendental force existing absolutely everywhere I think points to the very little considered idea of sublimity in modernity.

Perhaps we don't like contemplating the forever (the mathematical sublime?), because being in the installation, I began to think about it and didn't exactly enjoy feeling so fragile and temporaneous. I did, however, really appreciate feeling a sense of belonging to that room, and didn't want to leave.