A Boudoir In Purple
Saturday, June 25, 2016
My
mother often told me in Spanish “De estas aguas nunca beberé,” “Of these waters
I will never drink.” I was a stubborn little boy and I would refuse to eat this
or that or do this or that. I eventually learned that she was right and by the
time I was 22, I finally sampled peach yoghurt and I have not stopped loving it
since.
I never ate
fish in a meat eating Buenos Aires, but in these last few years I have begun to
like good fish and chips and I will tolerate barbecued salmon.
Photographically
I have prided myself that although I shoot lots of racy nudes I have never “done”
cheesy boudoir nor have I ever planned to begin.
But these
6x7 cm transparencies of a lovely woman called Karen Firus reveal that I did do
such photographs. And in my failing memory I remember that I was assigned by
Vancouver Magazine to take these pictures. I remember a house in North
Vancouver and a completely purple bedroom. I do not remember if I suggested
taking her photographs on her bed or if this was Ms Firus’s idea. The fact is
that here they are proving that even from her grave my mother was always right.
And Karen
Firus where are you?
Las uñas - The Toe Nails
Friday, June 24, 2016
In the blog below you might be confused by the fact that
some of the novels in Spanish have title where only the first letter of the
first word is capitalized - and, in some not. This curious discrepancy seems to
be an Argentine one (they don’t capitalize) while other countries do. The same
applies to accents of authors’names. And remember to further confuse things
Argentine books until relatively recently had their table of contents at the
end. But then in the past Argentines used to finish their meals with soup.
Coincidence happens
more often than not.
My mother often said this to me but I never bothered to ask
her who she attributed it to. I have not been able to find the source.
In quite a few crime novels that I have read authors through
their protagonist often state, “There are no coincidences.”
One of the most remarkable books in my diminished book
collection since we moved from our large house in Kerrisdale to our small one in
Kitsilano is Jorge Luís Borges’s El hacedor which he published in 1960. My
fifth edition is from 1981. It is permanently ensconced on my bed table.
Borges most definitely had a sense of humour but it was dry
and sometimes I find that too many people take the man much too seriously. A
case in point is his little one page essay La uñas. In English that would
translate to The toe (or) hand nails. The essay is about his toe nails.
When I read it (again) just a few days ago I was thinking
about a Gabriel García Márquez novel Del
amor y otros demonios which he published in 1994. It was rapidly followed by a
translation into English called Of Love and Other Demons. In this novel a young
woman dies of rabies and her hair keeps growing in the grave.
Las uñas
– Jorge Luís Borges
Dóciles
medias los halagan de día y zapatos de cuero claveteados los fortifican, pero
los dedos de mi pie no quieren saberlo. No les interesa otra cosa que emitir
uñas: láminas córneas, semitransparentes y elásticas, para defenderse ¿de
quién? Brutos y desconfiados como ellos solos, no dejan un segundo de preparar
ese tenue armamento. Rehúsan el universo y el éxtasis para seguir elaborando
sin fin unas vanas puntas, que cercenan y vuelven a cercenar los bruscos
tijeretazos de Solingen. A los noventa días crepusculares de encierro prenatal
establecieron esa única industria. Cuando yo esté guardado en la Recoleta, en
una casa de color ceniciento provista de flores secas y de talismanes,
continuarán su terco trabajo, hasta que los modere la corrupción. Ellos, y la barba en mi cara.
Toenails
- J. L. Borges
Soft
stockings coddle them by day and nail-bossed leather shoes buttress them, but
my toes refuse to pay attention. Nothing interests them but emitting toenails,
horny plates, semi-transparent and elastic, to defend themselves–from whom?
Stupid and mistrustful as they alone can be, they never for a moment stop
readying that tenuous armament. They reject the universe and its ecstasy to
keep forever elaborating sharp ends, which rude Solingen scissors snip over and
over again. Ninety days along in the dawn of prenatal confinement, they
establish that singular industry. When I am laid away, in an ash-colored house
provided with dead flowers and amulets, they will still go on with their
stubborn task, until they are moderated by decay. They–and the beard on my face.
From
Dreamtigers, by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Mildred Boyer
This
coincidence made me think of another. I have this lovely little and very slim
book, El Último Rostro (1978) by Colombian-born (but he lived for many years in
Mexico) called Álvaro Mutis. In that four-story collection, the title one is
about Simón Bolivar before his death. The story is remarkably similar to
Márquez’s novel (I have it in English) The General in his Labyrinth published in
1989. I would never cite plagiarism but I would state that inspiration is a
wonderful thing especially when you are aware of it when it hits you
personally.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Rau Antiques places ads in the NY Times and I always notice
them. I wrote about it here. In today’s June 21 NY Times (I am writing this today) I especially
noticed the ad. This time around I knew a bit (a tiny bit) of the painter
featured. The reason for this is that in my last two trips to Buenos Aires I
have been buying Piazzolla CDs to replace my aging records or simply to buy
stuff of his I don’t have. Some of these, in what is called Edición Piazzolla, use
lovely (to me) paintings by Tamara de Lempicka who it seems was an aristocratic-looking Polish artist very popular in the Hollywoodand Europe of the 1930s.
My Wikipedia says this about her.
Tamara Łempicka,
commonly known as Tamara de Lempicka (16 May 1898 – 18 March 1980) was a Polish
Art Deco painter and "the first woman artist to be a glamour star".
Influenced by Cubism, Lempicka became the leading representative of the Art
Deco style across two continents, a favorite artist of many Hollywood stars,
referred to as 'the baroness with a brush'. She was the most fashionable
portrait painter of her generation among the haute bourgeoisie and aristocracy,
painting duchesses and grand dukes and socialites. Through her network of
friends, she was also able to display her paintings in the most elite salons of
the era. Lempicka was criticized as well as admired for her 'perverse Ingrism',
referring to her modern restatement of the master Jean Auguste Dominique
Ingres, as displayed in her work Group of Four Nudes (1925) among other studies.
I noticed a striking photograph of her taken by a
photographer called Dora Kallmus in Paris in 1929. What particularly struck my
eye was the last sentence of the above Wikipedia citation. I found the painting
mentioned and it is reproduced here.
Since I do not have the standard art education (in fact I
never had one) all I can say is that I love her images. I note that the
Piazzola CD covers have an interesting interpretation of her paintings but in
the back they have the full painting just as it is.
We have had enough of Frida Kahlo and it is time to do
something with Tina Modotti. I believe that at my insistence Chilean born, Vancouver
writer/playwright and actor Carmen Aguirre is working on a play about her. I
wonder now if someone should not work on a play or film of Tamara de Lempicka
as well as Man-Ray’s muse (and a terrific photographer in her own right) LeeMiller. And of course that leads me to a treatment of Margaret Bourke-White and…
Rosa 'English Elegance' 20 June 2016 On Its Way Towards Oblivion
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
There is something about being idle in one finding oneself away from the obligations of work and no longer being an important cipher is the making of things, the thinking of ideas for stories or the invention of photographic possibilities for obtaining a job that is no longer of any importance.
This means that I can read and look and think. Unfortunately I find myself out of the loop of people who are in a position to be an influence on changing how we perceive society, even our immediate one.
As an example I noticed my bloom of Rosa 'English Elegance' in a transtion to the droop and the inevitable decline of a lovely rose past its prime.
So much of what we see now is brand new or protected to look brand new. As an example we have long forgotten that the purpose of paint on a car is to prevent corrosion. My Rosemary is upset at all the bumper (front and back) nicks which are inevitable results of having to parallel park on a crowded street. It doesn't affect me much. I know we could spend $2500 to make the bumpers look pristine and within a few days the little marks would be there.
My (and our) little garden is a good place to notice what plants do when they retreat into that stage close to the perennial oblivion of roses and the other plants that have a season and then decline into fall and winter dormancy.
This bloom ( its petals) has lost the regidity of the rose that has just opened. For the Vancouver Rose Society Show this coming Sunday those who will be exhibiting cut roses will cut their choices at their prime and place them in the fridge to keep them from going any further.
For me, while I understand the purpose, I also appreciate the beauty of something that is letting go, that is in that process of entropy that is a process that nobody can escape.
Fashion magazines have models, male and female, in the prime of youth. With the help of photographic correction methods skin pores are whisked away as well as unsightly bags and creases here and there.
And yet to this man, soon to be 74, there is beauty in that after stage of perfection. If metals can have patina and antiques look like antiques why cannot roses and people be seen in the same way?
Most recently a friend of mine who lives in Lodon had her birthday. The good words going her way thanks to that terrible facebook reminder are about, "You are still beautiful," "You still look good," or this damning one, " I know I say this every year but it's still true. You never seem to age."
What's a Ghetto?
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
A Ghetto according to my Wikipedia:
A ghetto is a part of a city in which members of a
minority group live, especially because of social, legal, or economic pressure.
The term was originally used in Venice to describe the part of the city to
which Jews were restricted and segregated.
And the etymology of the word:
The English word ghetto comes from the Jewish area of
Venice, the Venetian Ghetto in Cannaregio. However, there is no agreement among
etymologists about the origins of the Venetian language term. The various
theories trace it to: a special use of Venetian getto "foundry"
(there was one near the site of that city's ghetto in 1516); Yiddish get
"deed of separation"; a clipped form of Egitto "Egypt,"
from Latin Aegyptus (presumably in memory of the exile); or Italian borghetto
"small section of a town" (diminutive of borgo, which is of Germanic
origin; see borough). Extended by 1899 to crowded urban quarters of other
minority groups (especially blacks in U.S. cities).
I know an architect who is trying to keep the look, feel
and soul of Vancouver’s Chinatown alive. I don’t have the heart to tell him
what I think. In a way my thought may be one I share with Vancouver Councillor
Kerry Jang who is quoted in this June 18 column by Pete McMartin in the Vancouver Sun:
Vancouver Councillor. Kerry Jank has his doubts. Jang was
born in Vancouver and worked as a teen in Chinatown. His grandparents lived
there. His clan owns one of Chinatown’s fraternal building on East Pender. But
he believes Chinatown has been too reluctant to change.
“What’s the relevance of Chinatown anymore? Does it have
a reason for existence anymore? In Vancouver we live the multicultural dream.
You can get Chinese groceries at every street corner. I don’t have to go back
to Chinatown like in the old days, because that’s where we were allowed to live.
And so this whole debate of what Chinatown should be has taken on some racist
tones, which is disconcerting.”
I particularly noticed:
I don’t have to go back to Chinatown like in the old
days, because that’s where we were allowed to live.
In a nutshell I believe that Vancouver’s Chinatown, for
many years was a ghetto that became quaint as years went by. We (the city) have
forgotten that Chinatown was the only place where Chinese immigrants of another
era and, those who may have worked on building Canada’s railway, could afford to
live. They were monetarily shunned from other places in the city.
I believe that we must redefine our concept of what a
ghetto is. It does not have to be a designated area perhaps marked by railroad
tracks (this side or that side) or some other type of boundary.
The new immigrants from the East can live wherever they
want as they can afford to live where they want. As this happens, and the proof
of it all, is the skyrocketing increase in the buying price of houses in
Vancouver, those who cannot afford it must leave and spread to the outskirts.
I would define a ghetto in Vancouver as areas where the
people who cannot afford city proper houses, condos or rentals are the people
who are being ghettoized. The ghetto is now defuse but definitely not defused.
In the early 90s when houses were being torn down in my
Kerrisdale neighbourhood I noticed that the new houses had very nice stone walls
and other stone work. I found it symmetrical and logical that the stone masons
were now English and Scottish.
Perhaps in the past ghettos existed because of
differences of culture, language and religion. Now they exist for monetary
reasons.
Nu debout de profil
Monday, June 20, 2016
 |
| NY Times - Art Section- Friday June 17 2016 |
On Wednesday I met up with my favourite Vancouver artist,
Neil Wedman at a café on Granville Street. He was there with some artist
friends, a photographer and two people who work at an important Vancouver art
gallery.
It was fun to feel a bit less isolated. Ever since I
stopped working for magazines and newspapers I no longer have access to some
events. As an example a former tango partner of mine from my past who is
studying in London met up with Tilda Swinton. My friend told me that Swinton
will be here in August and could I set up an interview with her so she (my
friend could do the interview) and I would take the pictures. With no access to
the Globe & Mail for whom I worked for many years it would be impossible to
get to Swinton. At this point in my life I am happy to photograph “ordinary”
people and I leave the celebrities to others.
Wedman asked me if I had read in the NY Times about an
artist. I had since both are avid readers of the NY Times and particularly of
the Friday edition. The Friday NY Times has two arts sections. There is the
ordinary (but very good) one on film, theatre and dance, but the second section
is all about the visual arts.
Unlike Wedman I never had an arts education so I am attempting
to catch up by reading. In the Friday NY Times I discover new artists or read
about those I know in much more detail. The issue for Friday June 17 (I am
writing it on that date) besides interesting stuff on Dada had two ads. One for
a gallery
in NY City called Cavalier Gallery and the other for the London Art
Week 2016 1-8 July.
 |
| Glory Days - Peregrine Heathcote |
The painting illustrating the Cavalier Gallery feautured
a painting (but reproduced in b+w) by someone called Peregrine Heathcote and it
is called Glory Days. It is not hard to notice the Mercedes Benz 300SL
convertible on the right. I would believe that Wedman, who besides being a very
good artist, is also a bit of a snob, would find this English painter derivative.
I would be afraid to ask Wedman about it. The second ad had in its centre a
drawing that caught my eye. It almost looks like a profile of Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten.
I looked it up and it is by Amedeo Modigliani.
I happen to have a very good new model who has very short
and very blue hair. Her chest matches Modigliani’s drawing. I will be doing a
variation of it in the next couple of weeks.
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| Standing Nude in Profile (Nu debout de profil) |
|
