The Parade: Nathalie Djurberg

One of the most arresting art shows I have been privy too in the last year was without a doubt The Parade by Nathalie Djurberg which I saw at the New Museum down in the Bowery in New York.  

The show consists of a mix of eighty-two bird sculptures, composed from painted canvas, wire, and clay materials, which accompany five videos interspersed throughout the exhibit.  The videos feature nightmarish claymation shorts. 

Entering into the show is initially unsettling, although the group of bird sculptures are colourful and grand in design, the sheer volume is intimidating.  As you journey through the show, you feel you are being stalked, as if you have been selected as prey.

We are guided by the overseeing birds to each film, each a provocative document of the human condition.  Greed; violence; the exotic, unknown other; all culminates in a staggering final short, "The Parade of Rituals and Stereotypes," depicting the grotesque dominance of prejudice; of the racial, gender, and religious capacity.  One of the figures literally "irons out" another, eradicating the person's right to freedom.


An evocative show that demands analysis, themes that we assume have been previously dealt with at length are spectacularly readdressed by Djurberg. She herself has said:


"In the sculptures, Ms. Djurberg said, “I’m trying to show how birds are always trying to get the upper hand” with one another, as evidenced by aggressive expressions and combative poses. The films, which are at times quite violent, with clay figures being mutilated and oozing luridly colored blood, address more “hidden emotions, things that we don’t let out,” she said."

These hidden emotions equate to the upheaval that the 20th century brought with. Although an impressive and successful progress has occurred in terms of civil rights movements, Djurberg's show appears to allude to the suppressed hangover society society still harbor. The monstrous clay figure seem to insinuate that a Jekyll and Hyde quality still exists beneath the remnants of progress.

A Comprehensive List of the Minuscule Amount of Books I read in 2012 and My Subsequent Thoughts About Them

I feel quite ashamed of the amount of books I read this year.  Hmm... more like the amount of books I didn't read....  There were a few left unfinished, Anna Karenina, Lolita, and American Psycho, I'm coming for you! Also, can Anna Karenina taking up two months of reading time be my excuse for the paltry list below?  Yes?  Right, onward.


                                           

By Nightfall, Michael Cunningham
Honestly, I am not exactly sure when I read this, whether it was December or January, but considering I didn't start reading the following entry until February, I'm going to guess By Nightfall was my initial read of 2012.

Cunningham is a beautiful writer, and paints a stunning narrative about a Manhattan art-buyer Peter and his wife Rebecca.  Peter is already facing into existential mid-life crisis territory when Rebecca's troubled brother "Mizzy" shows up and further exacerbates tensions.

An addictive read from the author of The Hours.  Never has anyone managed to make such narcissistic characters so sympathetic.

                                     

The Killer Inside Me, Jim Thompson
My curiosity was struck for this novel when the eponymous film was released to much controversy a couple of years ago.  It's funny what the public accept through prose, but freak out about on film, but I digress....

I still have yet to see the film, but the book was thoroughly engaging.  I wouldn't say it is any literary masterpiece, but it is uniquely effective in delving into the mind of psychopath; not just merely seeing things from his perspective, but we witness the constant negotiations our protagonist engages with himself; wrestling between his sadistic desires and conscience guilt.

                         

Death in Spring, Merce Rodoreda
Rodoreda's novel is a feast for the senses.  It is lush in imagery, allegory, and symbolism.  Our protagonist is a fourteen-year-old boy, whom we meet when he watches his father commit suicide.  This traumatic opening sets the tone of the novel, one filled with descriptions of the rituals and superstitions that pervade the life of this teen and the village he lives in.  Through his eyes we see those who grapple with these limitations that subsequent these rules, and even those who rebel against, and the consequences they suffer.

It's traumatic, terrifying, and emotional, but quite possibly one of the most gorgeous narratives I have ever read, and this is just the translation, just think how beautiful the original Catalan script could be. Highly recommended. 

Lady Chatterley's Lover,  D. H. Lawrence
Ahm, dare I say this was anti-climatic? 

Published in 1928, this is a revolutionary novel in many ways, and faced years of censorship.  It even managed to play a role in the American sexual revolution, as referred to in Mad Men that one time when Peggy is still an innocent lost soul.

Lady Chatterley is lost in an unfulfilled marriage. Themes of class, love, and sexuality (obviously) filter throughout the novel.

I guess what disappointed me was the heroine, I didn't expect her to be quite so selfish, obviously she goes through quite a development and become more grounded, but by then the fairy tale ending is of course out of her grasp.

I don't know, overall I was just underwhelmed, as can happen when one reads a cult literary classic I suppose.

Then Again, Diane Keaton
If you want to laugh, cry, and appreciate your parents to no end, then Then Again is the read for you!

Keaton takes us on a lyrical, journey of her life, an undertaking that itself was inspired by the actress's discovery of her own mother's journals.

It's just poignant and refreshing because it has none of the self-serving narcissism you would expect from a Hollywood biography.  It's very much to do with who she is as a person and where she has come from.  Keaton is a very self aware individual who lives beyond the glamour of her industry, and seeks clarity from the choices she has made.  This book is very gratifying and will indeed make you reassess your own life choices.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Tennessee Williams
I guess this technically shouldn't be on the list, not a novel, but, I read the extended version, with the alternate original ending that Williams wanted to be staged.  It was far more bleak and abstract and would have been staggering on stage I am sure.

2013 will hopefully bring me to finally watching the film now....

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, Mindy Kahling
This is the kind of book that makes me re-evaluate what the fuck I am doing with my life.  When Kahling was my age she had already achieved so much professionally, and has only continued on to do more amazing things.  She was the only female writer during the first series of The Office, and now she writes and stars in her own show.  I'm not saying I want to be a "star" of anything, but her ambition is staggering and admirable. And her memoir proves that, as well as that she's humble and hilarious to boot. 

Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
Back in July I headed to New York, and post-seven hour transatlantic flight I was dying to escape the sorrowful dilemmas in Anna Karenina.  My sisterly encouraged me to read Fahrenheit 451, and quite frankly I think she may have been offended that I hadn't already.

It's a dystopian treat for all you masochists out there.  A criticism of censorship and dictatorship alike, the novel takes place in a world where books have been banned.  Reading is regarded as anarchistic.  Fire men no longer stop fires, but rather start them.  They are out to punish those who dare stash books under the floor boards, hiding above light fixtures...

Guy Montag is a fireman, we meet him as he himself experiences a moral turning point.  Is one man enough to overturn the misconception that society has forced onto literature?

An addictive and evocative read.

Cherish your books children.

Also, avoid the film at all costs.

Valley of the Dolls, Jacqueline Susann
One of the highlights of the year, I happened to be in New York City when I read this, feeling as if I was journeying along with the Dolls, through the Upper East Side, Midtown, and the like.  Fortunately I didn't yield the same dependence on men and pills as they did.  But never say never I guess.


Anne, Jennifer, and Neely start out as plucky young women who arrive in New York with aspirations, some modest, in Anne's case, some excessive, in Neely's showbiz-obsessed mind.

Life in the big city soon reveals itself to not be as simple as first presumed.  When pressures get to much Jennifer turns to her "little dolls" to help her cope and achieve her dreams.  This is a decision treacherous for all three woman, and leads to a life of unrelenting misery.

Frustratingly brilliant depiction of women on the wrong side of the feminine revolution.


Talking to Girls about Duran Duran, Rob Sheffield
Sheffield's first novel, Love is a Mixtape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time, weaved an endearing tapestry charting his relationship with his first wife through their shared appreciation of music, specifically through the lost art of the mixtape, and the symbolism that encapsulates.  Love is a Mixtape was decidedly poignant because we are aware of the inevitable, Renee's death.

Talking to Girls about Duran Duran is a more light-hearted affair, and thoroughly charming in the process.  Sheffield wields an incredible talent of utilizing music to evoke a period in his life and the emotions surrounding that.

Deliriously nostalgic, Sheffield is a candid writer who brings out the feels.  

In Zanesville, Jo Ann Beard
I bought this on a whim in The Strand (like I do with most of my purchases in The Strand, the employees there have such impeccable taste).  Having never heard of the author, or the book, I wasn't sure what to expect but the plot intrigued me enough to indulge.

It's a book about that contentious time in a teenager's life.  You are no longer a child, but you are certainly not an adult yet.  In Zanesville poises many questions, some of which many of us can relate to surely.  What do you do when your best friend in the whole world, your beacon of safety, suddenly seems aloof?  When you have no one on the outside to turn to, where does one turn when the home situation is so precarious?

We don't learn the name of our protagonist, perhaps Beard wanted this to be a novel of self-reflection for the reader.  We all went through the same tumultuous time when hormones made surfacing to the day difficult, so there is undoubtedly something here for everyone.

A coming of age tale with a curious sense of doom throughout. 

Geek Love, Katherine Dunn
A stunningly complex book about a unique family of unique talents.  The Binewski clan are the head of a travelling circus. The patriarch and matriarch, Al and Lil, devise a plan to create their own little circus freaks.  Throughout each pregnancy, Lil is willingly subjected to drug taking and radioactive elements in the hopes that at the end of gestation, they'll have a masterpiece befit for a circus.  Given how the children come to be, Geek Love is a tale of family with some seriously sinister undertones.  Their's is a love they that warns against the dangerous of dependency.  Olympia (Oly) is our main narrative voice.  The story switches between two periods of time, building towards two equally consuming crescendos.

The highest honour of the year goes to Geek Love, book of the year, wish I had heard of this 1989 publication a long time ago.

Stephen Fry in America, Stephen Fry
Listen, Stephen Fry can do no wrong.  Even though he's the smartest person any of us know, as he travels across the United States he is graciously humble and honest.  He admits the preconceptions he had about various aspects of American culture, and is respectfully remorseful over then.

The book is entertaining, and isn't simply a feast on tourist attractions.  In the prologue he alludes to the fact that America cannot simply be painted with one brush, that every state is like its own country which holds its own culture.  His journey of epic proportions proves this, and most states (bar a couple unfortunately) have been given the utmost attention in the portraits he creates for each.

He's a true gent and when I finally get around to my own grand tour of the fifty states, this will undoubtedly be my companion guide. 

Miss Peregrine's School for Peculiar Children,  Ransom Riggs
I spied this book during an ill-advised browse through the Urban Outfitters website.  The cover was quite arresting and it was decided it must be purchased.

After his grandfather's mysterious death, Jacob Portman sets out on his own investigation which brings him al the way to Wales, to search for the home where his grandfather was housed as an orphan of World War II.  The ensuing adventure is accompanied by reams of old photos that we are assured haven't been doctored in any form.

This was a huge disappointment, but the reason I believe is not because it was a bad or even badly written novel, but because this belongs in the Young Adult genre.  I am not saying I am above this genre, but I didn't enter into the book knowing this, and so was woefully underwhelmed by the two dimensional characterizations as well as the predictable narrative progress.  Jacob was just such a predictable protagonist!  Mighty frustrating stuff.

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2012 brought alot of unexpected treasures my way.  Here's hoping my 2013 reading list will be more ambitious and impressive as well as continuing with the amazing quality. 

Alice's Tea Cup

Three years ago I spent a summer over in New York, where I was spoiled by my sister, and we had the greatest times exploring.  I had what you might call a New York bucket list.  And I accomplished and saw so much, but there always things that are left behind.  The grandest of intentions sadly do not always come to fruition.  So when I returned to the city this summer, things were seen.  Because bitches get stuff done

One of the excursions left at the wayside previously was a trip to Alice's Tea Cup.  As an Alice in Wonderland obsessive (though I shamefully still haven't actually read the CS Lewis classic) I had been dying to make it here for quite a while.

This time, within 48 hours of my arrival, we were seated in Alice's Tea Cup, Chapter II, but first...

We went to an 11 am showing of Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, which was glorious.  Something I hate about living two hours away from a decent cinema is that I usually invariably miss all the great, limited release films.  I am sure some will think, "You were in New York city, where there is sunshine-a-plenty and you chose to go to a cinema at 11 o'clock in the morning?"  And to those haters, I say HELL YES.  Moonrise Kingdom was even more spectacular and uplifting than even expected.  

After that we descended on Anthropologie, one of my favourite places to shop and where I actually cannot afford, but let's just say I got some good deals.  With Anthropologie it's more than just going to browse and buy clothes, it's an experience.  While there is literally art exhibited within the store, the way the shop is so meticulously curated, the entire place feels like you have wandered into an interactive art installation.  Unfortunately I have no pictures of the beautiful new Anthrolpologie on 3rd Avenue, because I didn't want to be thrown out.  

After a tough morning of wandering around the decrepit paths of the Upper East Side we decided we finally needed to quench our collective thirst and hunger.  After all, our breakfast that morning was only a measly (read - delicious) buffet of popcorn and chocolate M&Ms.  

Soon we had finally entered the fabled quarters of Alice's Tea Cup.

In all it's glory from the street.  Classy and dingy.  So Upper East Side.

There was a twenty minute wait to get a table, which I guess for a Sunday afternoon in Manhattan is to be expected?  I was honoured to sit on the dog piss-infested stoop beside Alice's Tea Cup.  The anticipation to enter was that blinding. 

I've noticed throughout the years, when I take pictures, only a small percentage of what I seem to take are the stock expected photos.  Fear not, you will find many snaps of the New York skyline in my library.  There is, however, another strange, probably more boring side to the photos I take.  Maybe it's the lifestyle blogger in me waiting to escape, but I love taking pictures of the finer details in places I go.  And Alice's Tea Cup presented a treasure trove of opportunity for me.  

(I restrained myself once our order came.  More on that momentarily.)

The details that catch my eye are usually what give the place I am visiting at that given time the character that is so enthralling, and the brief snaps I take are my attempt to capture that spirit.  The were only a few that were taken in Alice's Tea Cup.  There were a lot of children roaming about in fairy wings who were enjoying their own tea parties (jealousy knows no bounds, oh to be a child and grow up in New York) and I did not want to be that person.  So in the end I just bathed in the atmosphere.

Catchphrase!

Makes me yearn for an old timey displace case.

I am not normally, in fact at all, a tea drinker,  (I know *GASP*, what kind of Irish person do I think I am?), except it happened to be my un-birthday, and when in Wonderland...

Parousing the menu alone felt otherworldly.  It was a directory of teas from around the globe.  It seemed like traditional tea was there for obligatory reasons, the rest pandered to the brave, the Alice in everyone.  

I stuck to the sweet family, it was a safe option.  Shamefully.  But I wasn't about to spend $6 on a tea that was going to be abandoned.  The caramel chocolate goodness felt natural.  It catered to my senses.  'Cause I am a smooth operator.

After we had made our quaint order, one of the waiters arrived to the table next to ours with what could only be described as a banquet befitting the English countryside, after an afternoon of croquet.  Vintage cake platters laden with sandwiches, scones, and deserts, along with multiple pots of tea, were sprinkled around the table.  We could only look on in envy.  

Tucking into the curious deliciousness of blueberry and orange and bacon and cheese scones obliterated the green eyed monster and we reveled in our mini feast. 

My beautiful sister drinking tea in all her New Yorker fabulousness

Blueberry and orange scone with caramel chocolate tea.  Much NOMS.

Awh yeah.  That's the stuff.

See.  It's the little things that make a place. 

Mitch-matched crockery everywhere.  Eclectic eccentricity heaven.

We had been meaning to return, go for an all out Alice-inspired day, one that would have seen the tea party followed by a trip to the statue in Central Park.  But as I said, grand intentions, and there were other, more emergent things to be seen to.

There is room for a rabbit-esque quote in here, but I feel I have done enough injustice to the worlds of word play, puns, and Alice in Wonderland for one day.

Go.  See.  Explore.  Have some tea.

Shopping the Film Stash #5 - I Could Never Be Your Woman

Let's just get one thing out of the way before I continue, a great disservice has been done to the world because Amy Heckerling's I Could Never Be Your Woman was never released in theaters.

Heckerling's film is an ode to the sorry state of 21st century feminism.  Michelle Pfeiffer plays the disillusioned heroine, Rosie Hanson, working as script writer and producer for a TV show that invariably encapsulates the garish influence of commercialism in society.  Her confidence and personal identity is already under threat due to her neurosis, but that further multiples with the onslaught of her daughter Izzie's adolescence and the unexpected presence of a younger lover, the goofy Adam (Paul Rudd).

Rosie is what has been missing from the canon of the romantic comedy, and what, invariably due to how poorly the film was clearly received, will continue to be absent from this canon.  She is an honest depiction of the modern woman, particularly that of the more mature, successful variety.  Sure she's sexy and has a thriving career, but she's also a divorcee, a mother, and a frustrated (read - pissed-off) feminist.  She is pissed at the male-female dynamic, and she's passing her wise philosophies onto her protege.  Saoirse Ronan has often played beyond her years, but this time it's nice to see her play her own age with abandon, if depicting one who is a little precocious.  She is well on her way to becoming a very independent and self-possessed lady.  She teaches us all a lesson worth noting.  See video below.  (These days this message may be more applicable to the likes of Katy Perry or Rihanna, amiright?)

The film is not perfect, the plot's a little thin, the subplots are way too Scooby Doo-ish, Paul Rudd is the anti-love interest, but not in a good way.  But there's something about the message I just find to be rather empowering, as I just don't see it enough in cinema, or in media for that matter, nowadays.  On an aside, the recent backlash targeted towards Girls is just pissing me off....  Which brings us to the best part of the film, Mother Nature.  Tracey Ullman brings life to Heckerling's sardonic pessimist and Rosie's personal conscience/wise-ass.  She's pretty much a personification of everything women, of the realistic and honest variety, would like to say, do, and eat.  She empowers Rosie with her honesty and witticism, but is also there to ground her and call her out for being ridiculous.

This bohemian, rational version of Mother Nature is the antithesis of the Mother Nature that predominates in culture.  Usually we are led to believe women are at the mercy to the whim of the all-ruling mistress of our bodies.  The cliches of the emotionally unstable crying lady, and the hormone-enraged bitch.  Mother Nature is blamed.  We are weak because of the apparent existence of this ruler and our subservience to her.  Women, Rosie in this instance, can in fact live harmoniously with her.  It's a democracy, not a dictatorship.  Rosie and her Mother Nature have a back and forth; a relationship rather than a negotiation.

Sorry for the rant, but this film just magnified for me how women are treated and portrayed.  I'm not exactly one to talk, one of my favourite genres is War film, where women are one of three things usually, the mother, the devoted partner, or a prostitute.  And I couldn't even name a list of fabulous female directors or writers that I respect and yearn to emulate.  If anything this movie has called me out on my own sexism.  My own ignorance is palpable in my preferred tastes.  Rosie struggles to sustain the love of what she does, not because of her own issues, but because there are people like me who are forcing her into to unfulfilling careers because it's convenient for us.

Guys, let's just try to be better to each other.