Royalty

As there has been little but talk of the so-called royal wedding in many of the fashion rags and blogs (which seem to emulate the rags) that I peruse on a frequent basis, I thought that I would look the other way for a little while.  But, now that this joyous and momentous and truly historic or whatever day is finally upon us,  I thought of the notion of 'Royalty'.  Now, you see, I have capitalized the world to show my respect of what it could be- but these exemplars in the contemporary world stray far from the standard, or any standards, of being regal.  I am talking here not of politics but only of the surface- pure style.

Now, one of the only royals who I could think of who might garner some respect from these quarters  is of course the Duke of Windsor.  Any fellow who dabbles even the slightest in the world of style will come across his name and his flair, and I need not go into the details here.  A boxed set of catalogues of the property from the Duke and Duchess of Windsor which was auctioned at Sotheby's in 1997 will attest to the rather good taste of the Duke. As for that of the Duchess, I have no opinion which I choose to utter here.

The ever popular Sotheby's catalogue box set for the auction of the Duke

The following is a photo of the Duke on the day of his marriage to Wallis.  Ever dapper, he chose to wear a grey waistcoat rather than the one provided for him.  True that he was not allowed (or unable to) deal in the world of politics, but no matter.  In sartorial matters, he really was King.

The Duke of Windsor on his wedding day.

A little here, a little there

Skipping a day seems to be an unfortunate side effect of doing other things and not being in focus.  Also the constancy of dropping ideas or plopping down thoughts does not come as easily as it did before, when I had less interesting and wholly uninteresting things to say and talk about.  So, for today, for lack of new images, I had to raid my collection of past imagery and past work to source something to reference.  Lo and behold, I was able to conjure up one of the pseudo-experiments that I used to do in my earliest heyday of screen printing (between five and eight years ago, I cannot recall as time slips so quickly and mercilessly).  Never being one to follow any rulebook or guidelines, I often found myself taking some colors, twirling them together in a surprise concoction and then- voila!  The unexpected becomes reality.

a concentrated effort of color combinations chaotically crashing cooly

I only brought this up because in the front of my mind rather than the back, I have an intention of doing a similar thing this summer.  Or, better yet, even sooner, and I might add- probably much better.  Well, it has to be, no?

A How to Book

Not having written for a day, I was feeling a twinge of guilt.   Not that I did not want to, but I have had other things on my mind.  Well, the state of affairs as it stands this week is rather on the annoying side- the less said of it, the better.

So, I thought that I would shuffle my feelings around a little by entertaining myself with the newest book by Glenn O'Brien which hit the bookstores today- "How to be a Man" (Rizzoli), which I have been looking forward to since seeing it in the Rizzoli preview catalogue in the late autumn.  As usual, Mr. O'Brien issues a few choice essays in his always contemporary sounding voice.

The book as propped up on the sofa pillow.

One of the illustrations by the ever amusing Jean-Phillipe Delhomme

But, instead of being enthralled by it, I found myself thinking of other things- more so-called "serious" matters such as the nature of politics, of art, et cetera.  It is probably not just me but rather just the state of the world that has given me a bit of the reality blues.  After all, style isn't everything.  Or is it?

Although I must confess that earlier today, I was speaking with someone about changing my entire wardrobe.  I spoke with absolute conviction about the colors that I would once again don (it having been  practically over five years since I wore anything but a white shirt)  But after reading an essay on the lack of formality and proper dress in contemporary society, I thought that I may not change it just yet (if ever).

We'll see.  And I should get back to the book, as I'm only 2/3rds of the way through.  The rest will be some evening reading on the sofa, accompanied by the radio broadcast of a Mozart symphony (No. 41, Jupiter) performed by the Berlin Philharmonic which is roundly led by Maestro von Karajan.

A Merciful Outing

Today being Easter and the weather being particularly cooperative on that count for the most part of the day, it was a delight to walk through the lower part of the city (at least, that area which I am most fond) and to encounter very few of the normal denizens of the area. Perhaps they were either too hung over from last night's usual rounds of late night noisemaking festivities or they went home to their suburban homes to celebrate the traditional holiday with their relatives and being on their best behavior.  Whatever the case, I had most of the street free to myself and was able to wander quite peacefully.  The bookstore that I often go to was mercifully not crowded at all, and on top of that, I was able to find a number of new books that will while away some of my future time.  And, other things as well, but words can hold off until next time and I leave you with an image related to this day and a photograph of a pleasant non-New York looking scene as well.

Easter is always neither here nor there, as is this image.

The entrance to I'm not quite sure what (note NYC graffiti on side)

Alien Tree

The springtime season being what it is, there are many trees that have begun to bloom.  It is plenty fun to look at the way the colors and flowers develop all around.  Sometimes there are just trees which grow something that seems a bit otherworldly.  The following example is particular is reminiscent of rastafarian coiffure, curtain drapery and who knows what.

A curry, no takeaway

Sometimes a guy's just gotta get away, that's what Townes Van Zandt said.  Well, I didn't get away, but I did one of the next best things- to hang out with my good friend, have some drinks (although I must confess lately I haven't been much interested in drinking alcohol) and having some fun food (in this case, and which New Yorkers who have been to the restaurants here can tell by the pictures which kind of cuisine we had- Indian).  Lots of fun.

It's always Christmas on Curry Row in New York.

My Pal William (not Will)

There is someone I visit a few times a year. and it is always a delight to see him. Over the years, he has moved around a little, but for the most part he stays put.  One time, I was not allowed to see him, even though he was just around the corner!  That is the way with these guards, usually.  But he's not in prison- just on display for all those who admire and adore him like myself to see whenever we get a chance.

His name is William, and he is the mascot of the Metropolitan Museum.

Good ol' William

Just thought I'd share a fun story for an otherwise dull day.  Not to say that I did not do a little writing, finishing another chapter (though truth be told I did most of it yesterday), and a bunch of thinking.

Dies, Blooms,

In lieu of more words today and finding nothing much to say, I offer instead a view of my neighborhood cherry blossoms and think about the past (goodbye Sarah Jane), write in the present and love the future.

New York Apartment Pavilion

Saturday's nighttime storm found me happily at home- the wind and rain having nothing to do with me, or so I thought until Sunday morning when I found that my terrace had been flooded.  The sinkhole had somehow managed to become clogged, and there was a virtual pool inches deep.  It was actually quite attractive, and I thought of keeping it for a little while but thought against it should another rain come flooding the water into the apartment proper. It made me think of the Barcelona Pavilion for some reason, and hassle or not to clean up afterwards, I was happy to see the reflections of the water play against the ceiling.

Chairs for, and my own for

Many may have (or more likely not heard, depending on one's general character and focus) of the detention (or "disappearing") of Ai Weiwei. Now, normally one would use a description such as "artist" (which is quite a rare thing as there are so few of those!) or "activist" (suggested to me today by a journalist, which was roundly set aside), but those words are mere words and not good enough.  In this case, this is a very real, very brave and very beautiful human being who so happens to work in the world of art, whose activities skirt with and stand loggerheads against the system. He has now gone missing for fourteen days- two whole weeks.

Today at 1PM local time, there was around the world at Chinese embassies a show of support- people were asked to bring chairs to stage a quiet and peaceful protest against the unlawful detention of Mr. Ai.   The one in New York City looked like this (emulating the Documenta show that it was based upon):

New York Chairs for Ai Weiwei, 17 April 2011

Love the Future/A Chair for Ai Weiwei (2011)

An Afternoon at the Metropolitan

Not particularly in the mood for a day at the Metropolitan Museum, but the lure of the new pottery show "Korean Buncheong Ceramics from Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art" made it worthwhile.  Korean ceramics having already struck my fancy since the last time I saw them (also in the space that was used for this show), this collection of items was even more compelling.  It was a curious mix of what could pass for amateurish and decorative brushwork to work of quite refined minimal sensibilities.  There was also a small selection of whitewashed objects, which have fallen out of favor with me at this very moment because they seem to be wanting something.  (At least for now, this is the feeling- subject to change).   

two of the stars of the pottery exhibition

By the way,  I saw another exhibition of large scale drawings as well, which despite being by a so-called modern master (sculptor) just smacked of a lack of any significant thought, and a repeat of an idea (essentially, artistic one liners) which were not powerful or much interesting in the first place.  But, I can see how people would be interested.  The many students sketching there surely had an easy time of it, drawing large black squares and rectangles onto white paper.   

As a side note, on the way to find the aforementioned show, I had to pass by quite a few works by Rodin.  Now, despite not being interested in sculpture, Rodin's work is really some good stuff indeed.  Really.

Chinese Puzzles Abound

As usual, I took a bit of a long lunch break, wandering about a little longer than I should have.  I happened to pop into the Museum of Chinese in America to revisit an exhibition that I had looked through only in passing- Chinese Puzzles: Games for the Hands and Mind. Hardly being an avid puzzle solver, I had to bring my friend (who is one) to examine what was on offer.  While she had some fun untangling some of them, I found myself looking closer at fun items and the construction of things instead.

There were two sets of puzzles that did intrigue me, although I did not try to solve them. The visual captivated me, and it reminded me of some things which have crossed my mind these days- prison and love.

Although I could not solve it (nor did I try), I do hope others can break out of their chains (physical and otherwise) and be free.

Free Him Free Her Free Them Freedom

Ever Since

Do you know that it rained the day I left Japan?

The view from my airplane window.

10 years on

I won't bore anyone by going in detail, but today is the 10th anniversary of something that happened in my life.   As it rains down today, soft and hard, all I know is that time flies by faster than the blink of an eye, and ten years is no different than a blink.  Questions, questions and more questions- and I wonder, what is this life?  And more importantly, how will I live out the rest of it?

Sing a Song of Spring

It was a pretty nice day today in general and in specific.  I had wanted to grab another bowl of noodles, but my friend had no real interest.   So, we went to the usual place that we always go to.  Some people just never want to change- and perhaps it is up to me to change his mind.  Although they say no better than now, I have to say "next time,"this time.

Nothing else special, just a slow return to work (the writing of the second book yet again) and thinking of things far away but close.

I leave you with these two images of the Jefferson Market Garden, which I went to on the opening day of this year.

...and these lyrics from a song I just heard on the radio: "Do not sing; do not bloom! Spring is over. All singing must now be done." ("Singet nicht! Bluhet nicht! Lenz ist ja vorbei! Alles Singen ist nun aus!).

(But, knowing full well that Spring is here, and how I will continue to sing.)

A bowl of noodles.

A pretty normal Sunday in this city.  I knew already what I was going to have for lunch, ever since I'd been introduced to it by a new friend a few weeks ago.  I've had it once a week ever since.  Lan Zhou pulled noodles with beef, which is quite a fun dish.  It is quite wonderful to see the fellow actually pull the noodles right there- sheer magic!

Wish I could share this bowl with my friend!  

While sitting there, my mind started to wander, as it often does...

I thought of a friend at the moment  visiting Hong Kong who is probably eating everything in sight. If I were in his place, I would probably not be able to eat for three days!  Sometimes jet lag, distance and other stuff can do unexpected things to a person.

I also thought about another friend who I didn't realize was my friend (that's how things go sometimes!) who likes to eat noodles.  I don't think he's able to enjoy a bowl of noodles as I heard that he is too busy right now, so I had one for him.  

When I came out of the restaurant, I saw a drawing on the floor of a horse.  My artistic mind filled in the rest.  And, so the day continued on.

God, King and Man

Although I wasn't quite in the mood nor have been for a few days for any sort of entertainment per se, I somehow convinced myself to plop down and watch The King's Speech.  Colin Firth was definitely one of the draws since his turn in A Single Man, but Geoffrey Rush made a spectacular run for the money as the speech coach.  The sets were extraordinary in that they seemed uncharacteristically unreal, or surreal as the case may be, and added an aesthetically interesting element to an enjoyable film.

While watching and listening to the film, I came up with today's general talk.  In the movie, Colin Firth's character is torn between assuming or not assuming the crown.  In the end, essentially,  he has no choice.  Those around him, almost none of whom he is close to (lackeys, for the most part) need him to act a certain way- regal.  This, he does, but only after serious trials.

God save the King.

But this got me to thinking- about those who, as ordinary citizens, do quite extraordinary things.   In that sense, they are even more regal- they can speak out and act for themselves and in doing so speak for others who may not have the nerve to speak or act themselves.

Spine

At the moment, I have been at loggerheads with art in general.  Forget about the "art" and the "artists" that I see all around- I am talking about myself in specific.  Years had passed, and I had not done much of it.   You may think I have because of the things I have to show, but I don't feel that way.  At first, I thought it was kind of a writer's block, but slowly I realized it is because I did not have anything to say with my work (the main point), or it was derivative (that has not been the case for many years, though)   So, unless I had something useful or useless (as a statement) to say, I would put this art making on hold.  Which I have, but I am wanting to return to it quite earnestly.

An artist cannot and must not close his eyes to the world, and this is what I am slowly grappling with.

In the meantime, I enclose this photograph of one of the remaining works  (dimensions 2 feet by 4 feet) in which I can see some of myself.

After this, I had been silent.

House is More Haunted Than Ever

Yesterday night I had the pleasure to see the reunion of the band Haunted House- the quartet consisting of Loren Connors, Suzanne Langille, Neel Murgai and Andrew Burnes.  Having seen them for the first time in the late 90s, and having closely followed (and been linked) with the career of Loren Connors since then (as the band disbanded when Andrew moved away from the city), it was quite fun and rollicking.  The music brought out aspects of Loren's playing which seemed hidden by time.  Neel was in great form as usual, especially as he wielded his Daf drum.  Suzanne was in her own element, and showed what singing can really be about.  Andrew had the energy of the past but exhibited more restraint.

My thoughts drifted across time, though, as I listened and saw these old pals of mine.  As I thought about the younger person I was then (just starting out), the people I had known (some of who I have lost touch with), the places where I saw them perform (most of which no longer exist), what I thought about music in general and in specific, what is happening now in the world around- the whole gamut of feelings, emotions and thoughts.

But when my mind was into it, really into it- by which I mean the music, it was full steam ahead.  And what a damn good time it was.

Haunted House (in preparation)

爱未来 Love the future

爱未来 (love the future)


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As a side note, in simplified (simplistic) chinese, the replacement of the ideogram "heart" from the original tries to render the word "love" as being essentially heartless.  This is not only a design flaw, it is a fundamental affront to love itself.


X

爱未来 Love the future

Free

I had a dream today of Andrei Tarkokvsy, or at least, of a record box set where he was a composer.  But he never did any music compositions that I am aware of.  It was purchased at a warehouse that also does not exist, or at least, does not exist yet.  Chalk this up to me being out of sorts and having slept most of the day, despite wanting to be active.  The internet was also not being particularly cooperative for some reason.  Perhaps I caught a little bug, or I have the blues.

What is giving me a bit of the blues is the idea of prison- not the do as you please high life version of dirty dealers such as Martha Stewart or the regular prisons for straight up obvious crime, but the one of people who are jailed for something they believe in.  Political prison.  I doubt I will ever see the inside of one,  and thus question whether I truly believe in anything that much (although I suspect I might).  More than likely, I will not find out.  But, in the meantime, as I read and reflect on those who have been and are being held now (including the countless I will never know or read about), I wonder about how easy it is for things to be repressed in the daily life, and what it takes for a person, a nation, and ultimately a world to be truly free.  

And the other?

There is something on my mind but I am not going to write about it just yet.  Perhaps when I have mustered more strength of will, I will do so.

Instead, I will post about an amusing little gilded portrait that I saw in the window of an antiques shop.   It was up for auction, so I could not go in and grab it just yet.  Upon seeing it, I was quite happy and experienced a bit of the joy of the world that had been missing in my life recently.  I then wondered what happened to the other portrait, as these types of humorous folk pieces often have a corollary (a second, usually of a woman).  Then, the reality crept in that there may have been no second portrait, or if there was one, it is now lost to time.

And, in many ways, so am I being.

A portrait in the window.

All tied up.

This week has passed a bit uneventfully, which as usual is a good and bad thing.

Yesterday, I was able to pick up an advance copy of the book The Secret Lives of Hoarders: True Stories of Tackling Extreme Clutter by the fellow (Matt Paxton) whom we always see on the A&E program "Hoarders".  Last night, I had a pretty fun time ripping through that, but it left me wanting much much more in terms of horror stories related to the hoarding life.  As some of you may know, my place is pretty much the absolute opposite of the hoarder, but I find myself incredibly fascinated by the mess that is the world of the hoarder.

Speaking about hoarding, my partner re-worked three of the ties done last year.   We had picked up the fabric and decided to do them up.  But I was never quite satisfied as they were a bit flimsy, so an additional layer was added to create a bulk to the pieces, and in addition, two more were (hand) stitched up- so now there are five in total, one for every day of the so-called normal business week.

Anyway, it is a pleasant enough Sunday, so I think I should put this digital pen down on this digital paper and go for a stroll.

no charvet here, just MR

No More Wallander

As it so happens whenever a new mystery in which I am looking forward to arrives, I have to immerse myself in its pages until the very end.  As the case may be, the pace in which I read is no longer the rapidfire of youth, but rather a slower one.   Nonetheless, three days for a book still seems a big too long for me- I much preferring to finish it all in one go.  Alas, gone was that fun night when I read Of Human Bondage (in small print no less!) in eight hours.   Even the miniscule type of the Modern Library edition of The Tale of Genji at over a thousand plus pages could not deter me from finishing it in seven days!  Those were the days.

After that digression, I have to say with some sadness that I finished the final book in the Kurt Wallander series by Henning Mankell.  Having waited two years for this to be released in English (I not knowing how to read Swedish despite my seeming familiarity with its speech patterns), I did and did not want to go through this so quickly.  But it was and is a compelling book.  As I knew that the end would come in some form for the detective whom I had a good deal of fondness for, it was with great hesitation that I read the last few lines.   And read it a few times, those few lines.  I won't go into that here to give away the plot, but it is a good ending to a great series by a superior author. (The only negative comment I have is related to the book cover, which has absolutely nothing to do with the story and is an unattractive and extrenely amateurish use of metal type)

In the afterward, Mr. Mankell recounts how it is unnecessary to find similarities in the work with real life, and that at times these kinds of stories with references to people and places that are in the public eye and the periphery of one's vision (my interpretation of his words) is even more powerful (he uses the word "superior") to historic fiction.  I am inclined to believe him.