Marina's blog

Paris café scenes

2011-12-19T08:46:00.003Z

Canal St Martin

2011-12-02T21:32:00.005Z

Another sketch from my series of the Canal St Martin. I'm hoping to do some more drawing this weekend, and am looking forward to developing my studies into paintings, or possibly prints, at some point soon...

Autumn in Paris

2011-11-05T13:36:00.005Z

Some sketches I did last weekend along Canal St Martin and near the Marie du 19ème.

Paris when it sizzles

2011-09-03T11:19:00.006+01:00

Some drawings and watercolours from my week in Paris.

Jewellery

2011-08-30T17:51:00.005+01:00

Here are some pieces of jewellery I made recently, using Perspex, silver and other metals. Watch this space for more pictures...I hope to start selling at some point soon.

Sculpture in the Close

2011-08-16T09:17:00.009+01:00

Every two years my old Cambridge college, Jesus, hosts a wonderful outdoor exhibition of sculpture. It's called 'Sculpture in the Close'. Here are some pictures from this year's show, which I took at the opening. NB, the dinosaurs are now part of Jesus's permanent collection. They're by Jake & Dinos Chapman and first went on show at the last Sculpture in the Close in 2009. I think they look lovely nestled between the football pitch and Library Court.

Summer Painting

2011-07-30T09:23:00.005+01:00

Spent three days drawing and painting earlier this week - here are some pictures of my work, and of the studio which is magnificent. It's set within what used to be an orphanage and has high ceilings and beautiful crescent shaped windows.

Croatia

2011-06-24T21:05:00.005+01:00

Just returned from beautiful, sunny Croatia where I went on a sea kayaking tour around Hvar and other islands. It was spectacular and I want to go back! Here are some small sketches - didn't have time to do anything bigger but I took lots of pictures so I hope to do some more paintings now I'm back.

Life Class

2011-05-30T19:31:00.000+01:00

Last autumn I set up life drawing sessions at my work. They take place every fortnight or so, on Wednesday evenings, and they're going really well. Here are some pictures from a Watteau-inspired session we did a few weeks ago.

Springtime sketches

2011-05-11T17:01:00.000+01:00

It's been a while since I posted anything... here are some sketches summing up some fun springtime weekends. Hopefully I'll be blogging more regularly from now on.

Margate

Primrose Hill

Hampstead Heath

Hackney building

Morocco sketches

2011-01-09T12:07:00.000Z

Some sketches from my holiday to Morocco, Dec 2010 - Jan 2011

Red dahlias

2010-11-07T19:34:00.000Z

Anish Kapoor and Serpentine Pavilion

2010-11-07T10:11:00.000Z

Some pictures from a curator-led preview of the Anish Kapoor sculptures in Kensington Gardens, one misty October morning. After the preview we had coffee at the beautiful Serpentine Pavilion designed by Jean Nouvel.

Deauville plage

2010-07-25T17:38:00.001+01:00

Paris cafe scenes

2010-07-25T17:33:00.000+01:00

Lazy afternoons in Paris 3eme

Pompidou sketch

2010-07-24T17:44:00.000+01:00

View from a place in the shade of the Pompidou Centre, looking towards church and buildings on other side of the square, July 2010

Paris drawing, sunset, July; Life painting, Kensington, June

2010-07-22T21:57:00.000+01:00

The bird flu dance is all the rage in Paris

2010-07-20T22:24:00.000+01:00

Click here to read my piece on contemporary African dance in Paris, published in The Independent last Friday. I was in Paris from 4 - 12 July to do a course led by dancer Maïmouna. I also did lots of sketching and will post some works up here soon.

Image: Maïmouna Coulibaly

Roma - maggio 2010

2010-06-19T14:12:00.000+01:00

Customers at salami stall, Piazza Bologna, one hot, dry Sunday

Lazy Saturday, Piazza Farnese

cafe and tango

2010-06-19T14:10:00.001+01:00

Agnès Varda

2010-05-05T00:25:00.001+01:00

Just returned from seeing French filmmaker Agnès Varda present and talk about some of her films at the BFI. Feel inspired. Will write more soon...

[picture: Jane Birkin and Agnès Varda. One of the films screened tonight was Varda's 1988 ciné-portrait Jane B par Agnès V, which I first saw 4 years ago on video at the Cinémathèque in Paris. It was a treat to revisit it on the big screen.]

Como pictures

2010-05-01T10:25:00.001+01:00

Some watercolours and drawings from my time by Lake Como in mid-April.

Springtime

2010-04-05T21:41:00.000+01:00

February

2010-02-23T19:29:00.001Z

Tribute to Eric Rohmer

2010-02-07T11:57:00.001Z

The celebrated French film-maker Eric Rohmer died last month, aged 89. Here is a piece I wrote on my encounter with him 4 years ago, published in The Independent.

image: poster for Rohmer's film Pauline à la Plage (1983)

London buses, restaurant kitchen, Peak district in the cold, Amsterdam cafe in the sun

2010-02-07T11:30:00.001Z

I have neglected my blog recently, so here are a few sketches from the past few months to get me started again. More posts to come...

Sketches from the immaculate kitchens of a large, elegant city restaurant, drawn on two different Wednesday nights last Oct/Nov.

Holborn on a busy autumn night

Drawings from a new year's holiday in the snowy Peak District, 09-10

Sunny Amsterdam cafe scene - painted last summer during a wonderful short break visiting my friend Milenna.

Frieze!

2009-12-30T00:22:00.000Z

It's coming up to the end of the year and I've just uploaded some photos from recent months onto my computer. I really like this one - it was taken at Frieze Art Fair this autumn. It was my first time at the fair and it definitely made an impression on me. I didn't like a lot of the things I saw, but this Opie sculpture caught my eye. Quite a nice image to end the year with I think!

Hampstead Heath

2009-12-30T00:17:00.001Z

Some pictures I took on the Heath recently

winter

autumn

Somerset House ice rink

2009-11-21T09:29:00.000Z

These are some sketches I did on Wednesday at Somerset House, London. I intend to go back there and do more sketches, and then make some paintings from them.

November

2009-11-21T09:18:00.000Z

Roman protests

2009-10-24T22:34:00.000+01:00

I found this in my sketchbook from earlier this summer - I was sitting waiting for my friend May at Piazza Venezia and ended up getting caught in the middle of an anti-war demonstration. This is a very quick sketch of some of the poliziotti standing at the ready with their riot gear - they looked almost like statues, or like toy police in their starched blue uniforms. In the end the protesters marched by very peacefully, but it was an interesting spectacle nonetheless.

Drawing London by night

2009-10-24T22:26:00.000+01:00

Covent Garden market

Cambridge Film Festival 2009

2009-09-24T11:37:00.001+01:00

I've spent most of the past week in Cambridge, seeing some great films, interviewing directors and enjoying the crisp autumn weather. Highlights have definitely been interviewing two very cool French directors, Robert Guédiguian and Rémi Bezançon, seeing The Red Shoes for the first time, and watching Joe Wright's The Soloist. I was also impressed by British filmmaker Peter Strickland's simple, beautifully shot first feature set in Romania, Katalin Varga.
I also took advantage of the beautiful weather to do some painting in my old college, Jesus. The Sculpture in the Close exhibition is still on for a few more days and I wanted to capture some of the lovely artworks before they are taken away. The top two sketches depict a pile of Gormleys in Second court, and one of Jake and Dinos Chapman's friendly, rusty dinosaurs lurking in Library Court.

Paris, Marais scenes, Aug 09

2009-09-13T10:31:00.000+01:00

Paris, fin d'été

2009-09-02T22:56:00.000+01:00

Dahlias

2009-07-25T18:10:00.001+01:00

Art in Amsterdam

2009-07-05T14:22:00.001+01:00

I spent four blissful days in Amsterdam last week visiting my friend Milenna. I loved it, and think maybe one day I'd like to live there (if I don't live in Paris or Barcelona). The weather was glorious and I took lots of photos. I also did some watercolours and drawings - here are some examples.

summer drawing

2009-06-08T20:21:00.001+01:00

Synecdoche, New York

2009-06-08T00:57:00.001+01:00

Just went to see Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut, Synecdoche, New York, and thought it was brilliant. Kind of a crossover between 8 1/2 and a Woody Allen movie. It also reminded me in part of A Bothersome Man, a Norwegian film by Jens Lien which I saw at the Cinémathèque Français in 2006 and which made an impression on me for its strange, wacky kind of black humour and a delight in the grotesque.

Synecdoche, New York is a film about a theatre director who wins a prestigious MacArthur grant, with which he decides to direct a play about his own existence - and recruits an enormous cast of characters to (re)enact his life. However, things get more and more confusing as reality and fiction overlap.

Kaufman's film focuses on the great 'crisis of the artist' but also addresses a wider human fear of loneliness, failure and, ultimately, mortality. But like Fellini, Woody Allen and Lien, Kaufman combines these ponderings with humorous touches highlighting the banal superficiality of everyday modern life. In 8 1/2, Fellini exposes the contradictions of Italian society through his juxtaposition of showbiz, luxury, egotism and night-time decadence with the brisk, clean whiteness of nuns and doctors at a plush, sunny health spa. In Synecdoche, New York, Kaufman creates a running motif of sickness, hospitals and endless visits to a shrink. Ironically, the protagonist, Caden (Philip Seymour Hoffman), doesn't seem to know that much about what he is actually suffering from, and the director doesn't make it clear whether his illness is real or metaphorical. In tandem, his shrink - an attractive, middle-aged blonde who has published a prolific array of self-help books, many of which focus on her own beauty and sexual allure - seems more in need of psychological counselling than any of the other characters.

The emphasis on health - physical or psychological, and the presence and absence of it - also reminds me of another fantastic film starring Seymour Hoffman: The Savages, directed by Tamara Jenkins. This is another film set in the artsy, often pretentious milieu of American East Coast intellectuals, and a film which exposes the ridiculous side of human relationships.

Synecdoche, New York is a funny, disturbing, uplifting and saddening film - perhaps a little too long, but then again if it weren't, then maybe it would be too comfortable, too easy, and ultimately less satisfying.

Paris scenes

2009-05-19T21:02:00.000+01:00

Here are some photos and sketches from my recent trip to Paris.

view, afternoon, Canal St. Martin

Mathilde

Sketch from a stunning Kandinsky show at the Pompidou. I recognised this painting from the Guggenheim founding collection. It looks even more spectacular in this show, surrounded by so many other works from different periods of the artist's life. I liked the way the exhibition is ordered chronologically, with a room for each phase in the artist's life, which also coincides with periods he spent in different cities. This chronological approach seems to have gone out of fashion in the UK, and I agree that sometimes it isn't the best way to show of an artists' oeuvre. But it works a treat with this show.

Flowers in the gorgeous jardins Albert Khan - we cycled across Paris on our vélibs to get there (well almost, we made it to the 16e and then hopped on the metro).

Dusk on the Rive Droite

Notre Dame, sunset

Street art in Belleville

St Martin mural

Took this at 6 am as I crossed the canal on my way to catch the Eurostar.

One and Other

2009-04-28T22:14:00.001+01:00

So, I am officially in the draw to take part in Antony Gormley's One and Other performance piece on the Fourth Plinth this summer. People from all over the UK are invited to enter for a chance to win an hour's slot on the empty plinth on Trafalgar Square where they will become a kind of 'living artwork' (well, sort of). Out of curiosity I clicked on the official website and found out how easy it is to sign up. So I did so straight away. Shortly afterwards I received an automated email addressed "Dear Plinther", informing me that I have been entered into the draw. Places will be allocated by computer, with an equal number of men and women, and by proportional representation, apparently. Watch this space!

Musicians, Picasso and Helen

2009-04-28T21:56:00.001+01:00

Here are a few sketches done in recent months - some more recent than others.

I did this sketch on Sunday night - my cousin Susie and her boyfriend Ed performed at an open mic session at a bar in Tower Hill (a bar where my other cousin Genevieve used to work). It was a lovely evening and I can't wait to hear more of Susie and Ed's music. I might play the 'cello with them soon too.

My friend Helen who is now living in Malaysia. I drew these in a Soho cafe whilst waiting for food to come. It was a dark January evening, and we were with another mutual friend, Milenna, who was visiting from Amsterdam. We'd just visited the Annie Liebovitz exhibition and were celebrating Helen's new job as well as Milenna's visit, and reminiscing about fun times spent together in New York last year.

Sketches from the Picasso exhibition at the National Gallery. I fell in love with the final room - especially Picasso's takes on Delacroix' Femmes d'Algers series.

Two of a series of sketches I did during a masked ball I attended over Easter weekend. I love sketching live musicians - there's something really liberating about having just a few seconds to capture their shapes and a sense of their movement.

etchings

2009-04-01T21:02:00.000+01:00

Here is a selection of some of my etchings. The above scene was engraved directly onto a copper point using the drypoint technique (ie no acid was used). I didn't trace the original sketch so it's back to front, but I quite like the effect. I think the original drawing is in my archive from 2008 - it's one of several drawings I did sitting at Pink Pony restaurant in Ludlow Street in the Lower East Side, New York. The three jazz bar scenes below are part of a wider project I'm currently working on - I plan to have a series of canvases completed this summer. The images are based on sketches I did at a gig at the Knitting Factory, again in New York. Two of them are etchings made using hard ground and aquatint and the third is a monoprint. The final etching is taken from a small watercolour sketch based on the view from a train window, made during a trip to Kerala in South India in 2005. The original image was published in the Mays Literary anthology in 2007. I'm not sure if the etching captures South India's vibrant atmosphere so much, but it was fun experimenting with the soft ground technique and using coloured ink.

Etching week

2009-03-26T19:18:00.000Z

I haven't written in my blog for ages, but I had to today because I feel so inspired. I've taken a week's holiday from work and am doing an etching course. I'd only ever done collagraph printing and engraving, many years ago, and this is my first time doing 'proper' etching using acid and wax. I've learned so much and have met some wonderful people. Each day I come back slightly grubbier and a little more fatigued - but in a good way. I also have all kinds of new words buzzing around in my mind - lovely sounding words: sugarlift, aquatint, soft ground, drypoint. Tomorrow is Friday and the last day of the course, which I'll be sad about. But it definitely won't be the end of my etching, it's just the start. I have so much to learn and so many ideas and I can't wait. I'll post some images once I've brought them home.

Some drawings, and 2008 memories...

2009-02-06T22:48:00.000Z

This evening I've been going through my drawers and drawers full of art materials and sketchbooks. I discovered a pile of sketches I did last year, that had got hidden away amongst other things. I really do wish I could move into my own flat and be rich enough to afford a bedroom, art studio and library - I definitely have enough stuff to fill at least 3 rooms. Or maybe I should just try and become more of a minimalist. Unfortunately that doesn't seem to suit my magpie instincts....

Anyway here are a few pics I dug out. The biro line drawing was done on an empty postcard packet in a delightful little cafe terrace in Positano last summer, after a long early-morning cliff-top walk and a cooling spremuta.

The other drawings are from a night out in the Lower East side in New York in Spring last year. It was late April-early May, and New York was just waking up from the darkness of winter. The evenings were getting lighter and the blossom had begun to flourish, in a typically New York brash, bright pink. In New York, nothing happens by halves, and that includes the seasons. I think I had finished my internship at the Guggenheim at that point and was enjoying exploring areas of Downtown New York, which for me are still haunted by the aura of craziness and experimentation that went on there in the 1970s. That particular evening began at the Cake Shop on Ludlow Street, and then continued to a club called the Dark Room, where I spent the evening dancing with my Parisian friend Clémentine and her friends. Fun!

London Snow

2009-02-02T17:52:00.001Z

London came to a standstill today because of unusually heavy snow.
The last time we had so much snow was 18 years ago - I distinctly remember that day. I was seven years old and had my first taste of sledging on Kite hill (aka Parliament Hill).
Today I had to trek to South Kensington to work which wasn't much fun, but it was a rather surreal day in the office as hardly anyone else made it in.
Here are some pictures of my journey to and from work.

Saatchi Gallery

2009-01-02T12:07:00.000Z

I paid my first visit to the new Saatchi gallery in Chelsea last week. Here are some pictures from the exhibition The Revolution Continues: New Chinese Art, and a snapshot from Julian Schnabel's show at the Phillips de Pury room upstairs.

Australia, Changeling and All About Eve

2008-12-28T17:49:00.000Z

Despite all the terrible reviews I went to see Baz Luhrmann's latest film, Australia, last week. I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. Well, I suppose anything would be a pleasant surprise after reading Peter Bradshaw's scathing Guardian critique. Also, I'm not a Nicole Kidman fan, but by the end of the film I had actually warmed to her.

Yes, the film is sugary-sweet in places, but, as Philip French puts it, "you don't go to Baz Luhrmann expecting to find Patrick White, any more than you buy a ticket for South Pacific expecting to experience The Naked and the Dead." French's observation neatly sums up my own reaction to the film. Set in Australia at the brink of World War Two, this epic adventure begins rather clumsily, veering between outback wilderness to white saloon bars, to stately home, horses and lawns in England. The film is also spoiled to start with by Kidman's efforts to act the frosty upper-class Lady Sarah: her accent veers between Bridget Jones and Mary Poppins for a good half an hour. However, I was soon carried away by the adventure and hypnotised by the stunning costumes and props. Take the heroine's matching, immaculate blue and white set of suitcases - one of which explodes during a brawl, exploding its contents of delicate lingerie - or her dazzling, tight red ball gown. Everything is just that little bit camp and over the top, just like the dazzling technicolour of The Wizard of Oz, a recurring narrative and stylistic reference. It's obvious that Luhrmann is just as interested in visual details as he is in narrative. To me, both work well together in this film which is meant to be pure entertainment at its campest, exaggerated best.

Kidman's performance warms up, too (once she is able to stop acting the 'English Lady'), and she makes a great match with Hugh Jackman. Sod Russell Crowe, Jackman is far better suited to this part. Nullah, the young, mixed-race boy, and his grandfather, his Aborigine grandfather, have important roles in the film, too. They movingly portray the terrible racial prejudice inflicted on Australia's indigenous peoples, right up until the early 1970s, as the film's closing credits point out. So the film isn't all mush and escapism - it also highlights a horrible and uncomfortable truth about a not-too distant past. But go and see it for all the mush and escapism anyway - and if you have any heart you'll be swept away by the story.

Last week I was also lucky enough to catch a screening of the stunning All About Eve, starring Bette Davis at her bitchiest, cattiest and most wonderful. It's amazing how the film's themes - ambition, celebrity and the emptiness of fame - still ring true today. It also sums up that each to-his-own, cut-throat environment particular to New York.

Changeling, Clint Eastwood's latest directorial achievement, is another film set in the first half of the 20th century. I went to see it last week at the newly revamped Everyman cinema in Hampstead, as a post-Christmas treat. Tickets are extortionately priced, in exchange for the privilege of waiter service and enormous sofas instead of seats. Each place comes complete with a side table, to which champagne holders are affixed. There are even aeroplane-style buttons which remain lit up throughout the film, and can be pressed at any time , should you require additional drinks or snacks. It's a nice idea, but in practice it means a lot of clunking of bottles and general disturbance as waiters weave in and out of spectators, many of whom are concentrating too hard on munching and sipping than watching the film. Given the choice, I'd go for the BFI any day - you may not be able to eat or drink in the auditorium but the bar is very cool. Also, £12 is a ridiculous price for a cinema ticket - you can go to the theatre for cheaper.

Either way, I enjoyed the film. Angelina Jolie's performance is very convincing; the costumes and sets are stunning, and the story all the more poignant because it's true. It's interesting that Clint Eastwood seems to be quite a feminist - like Million Dollar Baby, this film highlights sexual inequality and the barriers faced by women. He has also revealed himself to be a talented musician, having composed the score for both these films and also Flags of our Fathers, Grace is Gone and Mystic River.

December drawings

2008-12-21T17:29:00.000Z

Edinburgh sketches

2008-12-04T14:11:00.001Z

My first ever trip to Edinburgh was wonderful. Went there for the opening of Steve McQueen's touring installation, Queen and Country, along with my colleagues from The Art Fund. Here are a couple of sketches I did during the trip - a city scene and a portrait of Guilaine.

Cultural highlights

2008-11-22T07:56:00.000Z

It's been a while since I last wrote, and I've seen so many interesting things, so it's difficult to know where to start. Maybe I'll mention some of the 'cultural highlights' of the past weeks.

Well, this past week started off in a very memorable way - at 9am on a misty, damp, Monday morning a dozen or so work colleagues and I gathered at the staff entrance of Tate Modern, where whisked down some hidden corridors, and led up to the entrance to the Rothko exhibition, where we were let loose amongst the vast, empty rooms. The museum is closed to the public on Mondays and we were the lucky few who had the chance to take in the beauty of the room full of warm, glowing canvases that Rothko was originally commissioned to paint for the Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram building in New York. The exhibition also includes some of the harsher, cleaner looking Black-Form paintings, his large-scale Brown and Grey works on paper, and his last series of Black on Grey paintings, which were created later on in his career. I can't describe what a difference it made seeing it in this calm, silent ambiance, compared to my first visit weeks ago on a busy lunchtime. What a wonderful way to start the week.

What else have I been up to? Well, last Sunday I went to see Kazan's wonderful Streetcar Named Desire at the BFI. Of course, both I and the friend I went with had seen it before, but both of us agreed it's totally transformed at the cinema. It was a real treat to watch the larger-than-life characters, acted by a brooding Marlon Brando and simpering Vivienne Leigh, battling it out on the big screen, accompanied by that wonderfully foreboding music. I'm hoping I'll have time to catch at least one more Tennessee Williams film before the BFI retrospective ends.

The other week, I finally made it to see the Francis Bacon retrospective at Tate Britain. I had always been rather sceptical about Bacon's work, but I totally changed my mind on seeing this fantastic show. I think I just hadn't seen enough of his work. It was so interesting to follow the progression from his earlier, more restrained approach to colour to his later, more exuberant compositions. I adored his interpretations of Velasquez' paintings of Pope Innocent X. One of the best parts of the show was the room in which we're given a glimpse of his work process. There are glass cabinets filled with art books he used for reference, alongside torn out pages from newspapers and medical magazines. There are also some stunning black and white photos on the wall, taken by the artist and friends, in his studio. One wall is covered with a blown-up photo of what the studio looked like, with its round mirror and dozens of paint brushes splaying out from glass pots. I'm hoping I can go back and see the show once more before it closes.

Tonight I'm going to see Othello at the Lyric Hammersmith. It's one of my favourite Shakespeare plays and I've never actually seen it on stage, so I'm very excited. Tomorrow I intend to go and see the Miró, Calder, Giacometti, Braque show at the Royal Academy.

Chatsworth snaps

2008-11-01T23:16:00.000Z

Just back from a gorgeous day in Derbyshire. Lots of travelling, but worth it for the magnificent sculpture exhibition in Chatsworth's grounds. And the house itself is superb - definitely want to go back again soon.

Some quick sketches from paintings

2008-10-25T19:21:00.000+01:00

A wall of Rothkos at the Tate Modern show; The Toilet of Venus by Velasquez, housed in the National Gallery, London

Some drawings from my head

2008-10-25T19:18:00.000+01:00

Autumn prettiness

2008-10-21T22:06:00.000+01:00

Hyenas

2008-10-12T14:36:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I went to the BFI screening of Hyenas, a film by the late Senegalese director Djibril Diop Mambety. I've seen and written about some of his other films - my favourite is Touki Bouki - but Hyenas is notoriously difficult to get hold of so I was thrilled to be able to see it on the big screen.

It's a fabulous film. Made in 1992, it was conceived as a follow-up from Touki Bouki, (which translates as The Journey of the Hyena ), made two decades before. Both films portray human greed and corruption in a highly coded film style, complex and often humorous. The story of Hyenas unfolds in a Senegalese village called Colobane. At the beginning of the film, the town's grocer, Dramaan Drameh, is paid a visit from the past - the woman he'd rejected as a potential wife in favour of someone richer, has returned, years later. Her name is Linguère Ramatou and she's far more wealthy than anyone could have imagined. She also has her mind firmly set on revenge. Mambety based the film on a Swiss play by Dürenmatt, called The Visit (1956). The film works on many levels, functioning as an allegory of the 'postcolonial' or 'neo-colonial' predicament, but also commenting on human society in general, and the way money and power go hand in hand.

It's not all doom and gloom, though: Mambety's films are always polyphonic, filled with colour and energy, highlighting potentials for good (singing, dancing, bright colours evoke a passion for life), whilst simultaneously depicting wickedness and cruelty (Dramaan's customers refuse to pay upfront for their purchases, but parade around in brand new boots from Burkina Faso). The landscape, people, costumes and animal imagery Mambety employs are all African, but the message isn't specific to Africa, it's relevant to us all. The key motto is spoken by the decrepit Linguère Ramatou: "The world turnerd me into a whore. I'll turn the world into a brothel". She executes her revenge plan, but in the end, who do we feel sorry for? As ever, Mambety blames everyone and no one, and there are more questions than answers.

After the screening, we were treated to a lively debate, led by Colin Prescod, Chair of the Institute of Race Relations. He provided an insightful commentary on the film, and then other audience members chipped in with their reactions and thoughts. It gave us all a chance to think more carefully about the different layers of meaning Mambety weaves into his story.

The film's penultimate image shows a desolate, muddy plane ridged with fresh tractor marks - a community 'flattened' by the will of one person in power. But on the horizon there's a baobab tree, deathly looking with its roots hanging like a skeleton, yet resolutely alive, fixed at the centre of the frame. Is this a vision of hope? Or does it suggest that greed and corruption will 'grow again', the cycle of corruption repeating itself? The film begins and ends with shots of elephants moving through a dry savannah. One audience member, who grew up in South Africa, pointed out that in Zulu culture, the way elephants interact and care for each other is repsected and revered. By juxtaposing the community of elephants with visions of hyena-like men, Mambety is reminding us to look to ourselves, question our own motivations and attitudes to each other and society as a whole. Hyenas offers an uncompromising critique of human society and how we choose to build it. It couldn't have been screened at a more timely moment.

(images: Hyenas poster; Djibril Diop Mambety)

Memories of Tea & Sympathy

2008-10-10T22:28:00.000+01:00

I'm really enjoying Toby Young's How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. As I said in an earlier post the film is rubbish, but the book is brilliant.

One of the best bits about reading about Young's New York exploits is coming across locations that I became familiar with during my time living there. I was particularly thrilled to read his mention of the Greenwich village 'greasy spoon', aka Tea & Sympathy, as I worked as a waitress there for a couple of months last summer. As I discovered, it really is a New York institution, on a par with shopping for budget designer underwear at Century 21 department store, ice skating in Central Park and buying organic fruit from the Wholefoods on Union Square. Tea & Sympathy is comprised of a tea shop (where I worked, alongside an all-English group of faithful waitresses, some of whom have been there for over a decade), a shop which resembles a Sylvanian families replica of an Olde English sweet shop, and a chippy called 'Salt & Battery'. Tea & Sympathy is, I soon learned, a big celebrity hang-out, favoured by the likes of Rupert Everett (who Nicky refers to as Rupert, reminding everyone they're on first name terms), SJP and Jake Gyllenhaal. David Bowie even rented the whole place out for his 50th birthday bash, back in the day.

While I was working at T&S, I was quickly indoctrinated into the intricate list of do's and don'ts that customers and staff must abide by, if they want to stay on the good side of Nicky, the fiery owner/manager, originally from South London but now a New York establishment in her own right (check the press links on the website for proof). There's even a list of 'Nicky's Rules' stuck firmly onto the front door of the diminutive tea shop, just to make sure there's no messing around. The rules insist that no one can go just for tea, some kind of edible must be consumed. There's also to be no rudeness to members of staff, and, most of all, THE WHOLE PARTY must be present before a table can be seated. You've been warned. I worked there during the summer months, but apparently the warm aroma of apple crumble and treacle pudding pulls in double the customers during winter months - even if it involves waiting in line when it's minus 5 Farenheit outside.

I used to enjoy serving up bangers and mash, eggs on toast and shepherd's pie to homesick expats and anglophile New Yorkers. My favourite was preparing 'Afternoon tea for two' on old-fashioned, metal stacked servers: a portion to share included a selection of finger sandwiches, three slices of cake (chocolate was always one of them), and scones, clotted cream and jam. Everything was prepared in-house by head chef Jimmy and his colleagues, who must be among the only New York-dwelling Latin Americans in the world who've tried marmite and know that 'rosie lee' means tea.

I do think it's funny how you can find more typically 'British' traditions abroad. I mean, how many people really do sit down to afternoon tea these days, here in the UK? It's the same in ex-colonial countries. Whenever I used to visit my grandparents in Bangalore in South India, one of my favourite treats would be to stock up on the tantalisingly titled 'rich plum cake' from Nilgiri's - a supermarket founded during British rule which still sold old fashioned Johnson's soap, tin jars of Cadbury's cocoa and Pond's Cold Cream - and tuck into a good old 'high tea', with the addition of Indian savouries, of course. I still remember the days when I lived in Nairobi as a child, lounging on the deckchairs in the beautiful gardens of Karen Blixen's house, sipping on Earl Grey. Or those crisp, dark early mornings in the Masai Mara, when ginger biscuits, pungent and dampened by the humidity, and hot, steaming tea, coaxed us out of our camp beds and into our land rovers. I can also recall afternoons spent at Langata's Giraffe Manor where we'd climb a raised wooden platform to feed the tall, graceful giraffes pelettes straight onto their long, black tongues, before tucking into our own tea of scones and cream.

The nearest I've come to replicating those childhood tea-time experiences is at the Orchard Tea Rooms in Grantchester, near Cambridge - sitting in those deckchairs in the open air really does take me back to my Nairobi days. Proust was definitely right, there's something about the tastes, smells and sensations one experiences when growing up that just can't be forgotten. But the Orchard isn't the real world, either - it's about as frozen in time as you can get. Maybe that dreamy idea of lazy afternoon tea can only exist for those 'exiled' from home (or in the novels of P.G Wodehouse or Richmal Crompton, of course). But that's probably a good thing. It wouldn't be half so special if it were a reality.

The Good Critic

2008-10-09T18:56:00.000+01:00

Last night I attended a very interesting debate at the British Film Institute, discussing the role of the critic in the 21st century.

The talk was chaired by Nick James, editor of Sight & Sound, the international film magazine based in London. The invited speakers included: filmmaker, author and curator Mark Cousins; Jean-Michel Frodon, editor of the French film magazine Cahiers du Cinéma; The Times film critic Wendy Ide; and Mark Fisher, blogger and Deputy editor of The Wire.

I really enjoyed hearing each of them speak, and to listen to responses from members of the audience, too. I was glad to hear that there are still many people who are passionate about keeping educated, enthusiastic and opinionated (yes, opinionated!) criticism alive. I agreed with Cousins and Ide who spoke against the pressures of marketing ploys to promote star-studded blockbusters at the expense of less mainstream, smaller-budget films. Cousins used Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End as a prime example of what he calls 'bullying'. Quite rightly, he questioned the need for it to be shown 53 times over the course of one single day in Edinburgh. I couldn't agree more. I'm also thrilled that among the list of films Cousins has selected for screening at the BFI at the moment, is Djibril Diop Mambety's Hyènes (Hyenas) is being shown.

It was also fascinating to talk to Nick James and Jean-Michel Frodon after the debate. I asked Frodon whether he thinks that France is suffering the same 'crisis' of criticism that the Anglophone world seems to be undergoing (in America, 31 permanent critics have lost their jobs over the past couple of years, since web 2.0 came into being). It seems evident that the French haven't quite reached our stage of cynicism yet, and hopefully they never will. France has had a cinéphile tradition ever since Lumière and Méliès delighted audiences with their projections. Henri Langlois founded the Cinémathèque Française in Paris in 1936 - the world's first film archive. It was at this historic location that François Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard received their cinematic 'schooling'. They also wrote regularly for Cahiers du Cinema, which was founded in 1951. I loved living in Paris for the very fact that it has so many wonderful art cinemas, and that people there (and in France in general) tend to appreciate a wider range of films. Perhaps I'm looking through rose-tinted spectacles, but I don't think so.

Earlier this week, I was reading a few interviews with Peter Greenaway in the BFI library, and he often says that his most loyal and enthusiastic viewers can be found in France. He says it's because the French public tend to be, in general, more inclined to embrace cinema in relation to other art forms such as painting, theatre and literature, as well as philosophy and history. He also talks about an 'inverse snobbism' in the UK, in that people tend to be sceptical about films which try to be too clever for their own good. In his view, we're a far more literary nation than a visual one, and as a result we're quite accepting of playwrights and novelists to tackle complex issues, but are less inclined to appreciate a thought-provoking, 'difficult' film. I'm not sure if one can make such a sweeping statement, but perhaps he's right to a certain extent. But maybe it's more to do with the fact that we're victims of the 'bullying' that Mark Cousins mentioned in his talk. Perhaps if there was a more equal distribution of small-budget films alongside Hollywood blockbusters, more people would take an interest in a wider range of material.

It was also interesting to hear what Mark Fisher had to say about the demise of terrestrial TV. Nowadays, he argues, mainstream networks such as the BBC and Channel 4 hardly ever show foreign or 'arthouse' films. He says that he first discovered directors such as Tarkovsky and Jarman by happening to switch on the TV and being instantly captivated by what he saw. This is a valid point. However, I'm not sure if I totally agree with him. I find that the availability of DVDs in local libraries and on websites such as Love Film means that we have a far greater access to all kinds of films. The chance encounter is still possible- just in different ways. In my local Camden town video store, there's always a freshly arranged shelf of 'recommended' titles, picked out by the staff. OK, I am lucky to live in an area where there's a high demand for all kinds of films. But internet rental sites are quite well stocked too. However, I do think that local cinemas should be encouraged (or financed) to show a wider range of films. Finally, I think it can be concluded that critics can function as 'signposters' (as Mark Cousins says) or 'bridges' (Jean-Michel Frodon's term). In an age of information overload, we should welcome suggestions and recommendations from critics who dedicate their lives to watching films and framing their reactions thoughtfully, articulately and above all honestly. Long live the critic!

Sweet tooth

2008-10-09T18:38:00.001+01:00

I went for a run on Hampstead Heath earlier and happened to jog past fellow Kentish town resident, the journalist Giles Coren. (I know he lives nearby as he often slips in fond remarks about his Camden neighbourhood into his restaurant column in The Times magazine. Coren - an excellent writer, and sworn enemy of sub-editors all over Fleet street due to his wrathful reactions to any tampering with his carefully formed prose - was walking his dog and tucking into what seemed to be a packet of some kind of sugary confectionary. Perhaps the credit crunch is hitting The Times and they're no longer sending him for slap-up, three course dinners, so he's having to resort to afternoon snacking to stave away hunger pangs. Probably not. Maybe his tastes are just less refined than he'd have us believe...

Living, Dining and Philosophising - the art of French cinema

2008-10-04T18:44:00.001+01:00

During the Cambridge Film Festival, Isabelle McNeill wrote a brilliant article about a current trend in contemporary French film: depictions of the family home. This was certainly evident in the line-up of new cinematic offerings at the Cambridge Film Festival.

During the week I saw Cyril Gelblat's new film, Les Murs Porteurs (Cycles, 2007), Philippe Claudel's fabulous Il y a longtemps que je t'aime (I've Loved You so Long, 2008, starring Kristin Scott Thomas), Michel Léviant's En Souvenir de Nous (In Memory of Us, 2007), and Eric Guirado's Le Fils de L'Epicier (The Grocer's Son, 2007). They all deal with notions of the family, traditions, coming of age, memory - in particular relation to a shared living space. The films are also about a changing France and in certain ways celebrate a decidedly 'French' way of life - shared meals, philosophical discussions, setting aside time to think and reflect upon life and art.

Tom Sutcliffe on BBC Radio 4's Saturday Review hosted an insightful discussion of Il y a longtemps que je t'aime last week. The presenter and his guests - Douglas Kennedy, Fay Weldon and James Runcie, enjoyed the film overall, and it was interesting to hear their observations. However, I was slightly irritated by their shared dislike for a certain crucial scene - "that damned dinner party", as one of the panel puts it. They all seem to agree that the sequence is too obvious, too contrived and of course so irredeemably French, as presenter Tom Sutcliffe says. Brits seem to have a rather contradictory attitude to the French and their attitude to meal times. On the one hand, we long for a 'civilised' dining tradition à la française while we speedily wolf down our lunchtime sandwiches over our computers.* On the other hand, we secretly despise our Gallic neighbours for having a better deal than us, and think it all rather pretentious. We also have a problem watching them 'having their cake and eating it' on screen. It doesn't make sense.

Eventually, the Radio 4 panel conceded that it's refreshing for a British audience to watch a film in which the characters talk about culture and go to art galleries (and, presumably, have long dinners). The verdict is, apparently, that the French are less scared of portraying middle class life than us Brits. "The French invented bourgeois and they practice it", concludes Douglas Kennedy. But maybe the reason why they still 'practice' this slower, more contemplative way of life - whether we label it 'bourgeois' or not - could be linked to the fact that all French students wishing to pursue further education have to pass the compulsory Philosophy module of the Baccalaureate. That means that a large proportion of the French population has been educated to think and ponder in a certain way. French cinema reflects this. I thought the dinner party scene was effective, but then I'm biased because it includes an argument between some of the characters about the filmmaker Eric Rohmer - a master when it comes to filming meal time conversations. A film which is not only a delight to watch, but also slips in a reference to one of my favourite directors of all time, definitely gets my vote.

Cycles is a slow-paced, gentle film about relationships between the generations of a Jewish family - the Rosenfelds - living in the Marais in Paris. The film centres around the old family home - an apartment on the rue de Turenne. The beautiful old flat is no longer occupied by the Rosenfelds. However, family members are drawn back to it during the course of the film. I enjoyed it all the more because it's shot just a few steps away from where I used to live, and it brought back lots of memories.

En Souvenir de Nous could almost be corny in its romanticised portrayal of a remembered youth, but it's not. Léviant weaves into his plot some more troubled, uncertain dynamics between his three female leads. It was also interesting to hear Léviant present the film, and explain how it came to fruition - it's actually two films merged into one, made twelve years apart and with the same actors, bar one. He was inspired to make it because one of the actresses died shortly after the shooting of the original film, and he observed how strange it was to watch the film, knowing she was no longer alive. He decided to frame a second film, based on the notion that the character she played has died and her friends gather together to reminisce about the summer they spent together. The opening of the film depicts them entering the house for the first time after all those years, opening cupboards, peering into drawers and uncovering old relics - echoing how the film itself delves back into the past, not only of the characters but the director and actors too.

I enjoyed watching Le Fils de L'Epicier, again a contemplation of inter-generational relationships and of old tradition. Antoine (Nicolas Cazalé), is the son of a grocer and was brought up in a rural community. The film opens in Paris, where Antoine is working as a hotel waiter, reluctant to join the family trade. Yet his father's ailing health and his relationship with a young girl, Claire (Clotilde Hesme) eventually draw him back to his childhood home. He soon becomes attached to the community he grew up in. Guirado's film is brought alive by stunning location shots and engaging central performances by Hesme and Cazalé.

* Interestingly, Angelique Chrisafis recently wrote in The Guardian how the French are slowly moving towards our mode of desktop lunching as the credit crunch sets in.

The Artist and Model

2008-10-04T18:04:00.000+01:00

I just returned from a wonderful day's drawing, led by the artist Tom Davies at the school he teaches at in Ealing. It's a long way from North London but I can't think of a better way of spending a Saturday.

My good friend Aliette was modelling, along with two other people, and between 10am - 4pm the hours just whizzed by. Another fantastic and inspiring artist, Francis Hoyland, was also there. The class comprised a few of Tom's Sixth Form students and then quite a few 'older' people - myself being one of the youngest of that category. As all of us sat and sketched, Tom and Francis kept up an ongoing dialogue about drawing, ways of seeing, and artists. Their favourites seem to be Matisse and Bonnard, which is handy as they're my favourite artists too. The discussion moved to the new Rothko exhibition at the Tate, which I am dying to see. Tom also told us about his imminent trip to Calais, where he's been invited to give a talk at the inauguration of Anthony Caro's new installations in a 12th century chapel. The project is entitled Le Choeur de Lumière.

Tom also talked to us about Balzac's novella, Le Chef d'Oeuvre Inconnu, which he'd suggested as reading matter to one of his pupils who is preparing to study Art History at UCL. The book is set in 17th Century Paris. It's about an ageing artist, the mysterious and foreboding Frenhofer, desperately trying to complete his 'unfinished masterpiece'. He inevitably fails - in the eyes of his critics at least. Balzac incorporates a fictitious young Poussin into the tale, too. According to Tom, the house in which the story is set actually exists, and apparently Picasso was so enthralled by the tale that he decided to paint Guernica there. I read the Balzac work a couple of years ago, whilst researching for a dissertation on painting and cinema. Jacques Rivette made a film loosely based on the book, entitled La Belle Noiseuse (1991), and that's what first inspired me to read it. The film stars a fabulous Michel Piccoli as Frenhofer, and Emmanuelle Béart as the young model. Both the film and the book provide fascinating explorations into perceptions of beauty, the artist's impulse to capture the ephemeral, and poses the unanswerable question of 'what makes a good painting'?

During today's session I completed about 5 drawings, using a mixture of charcoal, pen and ink. I was very pleased with them and can't wait for my next class.

autumn apples

2008-09-30T15:19:00.000+01:00

tea at The Orchard, Grantchester, September 2008

Cambridge Film Festival 2008

2008-09-29T17:21:00.001+01:00

Just returned from a wonderful week reviewing films at the Cambridge Film Festival.

Highlights of the week included interviewing Tilda Swinton, watching Belle de Jour on the big screen along with it's follow-up by Manoel de Oliveira, Belle Toujours, starring the fabulous Michel Piccoli. But the most memorable experience was, without a doubt, the screening of Jarman's Blue. The entire 79 minute movie is basically just a blue screen, inspired by Yves Klein's 'International Klein Blue', accompanied by a beautiful audio collage of voices and sounds, dealing with Jarman's personal experiences as an artist suffering HIV. The marine coloured screen has a very calming effect, yet it's also disconcerting as it forces the audience to focus more acutely on sounds and words. Largely based on Jarman's personal diaries, the narrative is extremely poetic, whilst also conveying Jarman's lively sense of humour. It's a very moving film.

As part of the Festival's Jarman Tribute, the Cambridge Arts Picturehouse also showed films by Richard Heslop, an artist/filmmaker who collaborated with Jarman and also made his own feature films and over 80 music videos for bands such as Queen, The Cure and The Happy Mondays. You can read my review here.

The festival was rounded off with a screening of Peter Greenaway's new film, Nightwatching, followed by a Q+A with the director, during which he elaborated upon his rather radical views on (the death of) cinema. It was also hilarious to witness Greenaway's outrage when it was suggested that his film might be likened to Derek Jarman's Caravaggio, to which he responded loudly, 'Why should I be a f***ing Jarmanian? Why can't I be a Greenawayan?" or words to that effect. The comparison had obviously touched a raw nerve.

I was particularly taken aback by the fact that Greenaway believes he's the only filmmaker around who makes films based around image rather than text. It seems like quite a bold claim to make. What about Godard, Rohmer, Rivette, Renoir, not to mention African filmmakers such as Haroun, I was thinking to myself. And if he meant specifically British cinema (it wasn't entirely clear), then Jarman would be an obvious example of a painterly filmmaker - but maybe that's why his name is unwelcome. I quizzed Greenaway about his views later on in the Arts Picturehouse bar. I was relieved to discover that the arrogance and pomposity is in fact an act, and that in real life he's actually rather playful and of course highly intelligent. It was interesting to learn more about his progression from studying painting at the RCA to filmmaking. He lives in Amsterdam now and his latest film certainly reveals his knowledge and passion for Dutch painting.

During the festival I also discovered a range of new French films, which I will talk about in a later blog. I saw the UK premiere of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, too, which I found rather disappointing. The film is based on Toby Young's novel, a memoir of his cringe-worthy experiences of working at Vanity Fair in New York. I bought a copy of the book on Friday as Toby Young was there doing signings. I'm very glad I did as it's completely different from the film. The book is full of wit, intelligence and snappy observations, just like the 1930s and 40s screwball comedies Young talks about admiringly in the opening chapters. I can also identify with some of the situations he describes, given that they involve journalism and New York office politics. I particularly relished the accounts he gives of the Condé Nast hierarchy, and the bitchiness of certain fashionistas. Believe me I've been there...

Yes, I want a job. But please, spare the jargon

2008-09-17T11:34:00.000+01:00

If you're looking for jobs at the moment, you may share a certain irritation with me. Is it me, or is there a growing tendency on the part of recruiters to create ludicrously exaggerated headlines in their adverts?

Recent favourites include the enticing tagline, 'Do you have a passion for punctuation?' and, better still, 'Are you mad about cosmetics?' (No, really).

But the best has definitely been the boastful (and tautological) sentence rounding off one recruitment agency's ad: 'Competition for this role is very competitive'. Gosh, doesn't it make you want to apply right now?

In Defense of Keira

2008-09-07T12:35:00.000+01:00

I have been a bit silent on the blogging front lately. That's mainly because I was busy scurrying around the streets of London's Soho, picking up and delivering tapes, scouring hardware stores for buckets and fire-proof gloves (don't ask), lugging 20kg metal cases filled with walkie-talkie equipment, all on behalf of an Unnamed Film Company which gave me a travelcard and £4 per day lunch money in compensation for 9 hour days during which I barely sat down and felt guilty if I took more than a 15 minute lunch break. Needless to say I packed it in after a couple of days. Good insight into the film industry though - though I'm not sure I'd recommend it to anyone else.

Anyway, since then, I've done a few nice things too. I went to see the wonderful, if miniature, Courtauld Cézannes exhibition at Somerset House. Aside from the well-known Card Players (1892-5), I also enjoyed looking at other gems such as Pot of Primroses and Fruit (c. 1888-90), which reveals Cézanne's flair for capturing an overall sense of balance and harmony of shape. It's that awareness of pattern and form which allows him to transform even the most 'simple' or mundane of subjects into something fresh and exciting. Another favourite of mine is Apples, Bottle and Chairback (1904 - 06). The subject matter is exactly that described in the title, but the feelings of warmth and plenty emanated from the canvas, with its soft, reddish tones, abundance of plump, rounded apples and inviting wine bottle and glasses, make it more than a mere still life. For me, it's a painting about conviviality, enjoyment and the wealth of nature.

Incidentally, Somerset House provides one backdrop for The Duchess , which I saw on Friday. The film is set in 18th Century England and focuses on the real life of the Duchess of Devonshire, or Giorgiana for short. During the past week it has also been the subject of many a critic's tirade, from the pages of The Guardian to BBC Radio 4's Saturday Review. I agree that the film is no masterpiece. Yet Dibb - of Bullet Boy fame - has achieved a pleasant level of entertainment whilst providing a delectable feast for the eyes. Certain aspects of the film do seem contrived - do we need so many bedroom scenes, and why are they always followed swiftly by brisk, cold dining sequences? - but then who says it should be totally realist in its approach to history and character. With its short, sharp scenes and sweeping narrative, the film could be a well-crafted play - minus the fantastic location shots of course. For me, this 'staged' feel actually allowed for an interesting contemplation of the 'theatre' that was 18th century society. The scene in which Giorgiana's wig catches fire is particularly successful, bringing the aristocratic protagonist firmly 'down to earth' and cleverly unwrapping the layers of artifice. That particular moment made me feel oddly uneasy - it was almost as if the artifice of the film itself was being exposed, unwittingly allowing Keira Knightley to appear beneath the guise of Giorgiana's elaborate costume. Because of the uneasiness it evoked, I felt it was a particularly successful sequence, summing up the way in which Dibb's film deals with glamorous spectacle versus human emotion. It also exposes his capacity for toying with our fantasies of a sumptuous past whilst undermining these romanticised visions.

I thought that the cast did a fine job, too. Whilst I felt that Hayley Attwell seemed a bit stiff at first, I realised that she actually played her part exceedingly well, capturing the slightly self-conscious, awkward character of Elizabeth. Ralph Fiennes did an excellent parody of English stiff-upper-lip masculinity, the scene in which he engages in baby-talk with his well-groomed hunting dogs from his seat at the dinner table being the comic high point. But - shock, horror - I also thought that Keira Knightley was excellent in the role of Giorgiana. I know that most women wouldn't agree with me - I've noticed that she seems to be an object of hatred amongst many of my contemporaries. I was only in the office of one national broadsheet the other week to be shocked at a tirade of insults bequeathed on the successful British actress. I have to say I feel like a lot of this is down to jealousy. Knightley is attractive and has landed some of the most covetable lead parts in recent British films. She doesn't seem to have an obvious 'weak point' like her counterparts - for instance Kate Winslet, who everybody loves because of her so-called 'normal' physique - ie fluctuating weight and open discussion of diets. Keira on the other hand is very young, slim and probably could get away with being a model if she weren't an actress. She is also very intelligent - listen to her discussing the parallels between cartoonists in 18th Century England and today's paparazzi on last week's Woman's Hour for an example. It's interesting that us Brits have a problem with intelligent women like Keira whilst hungrily purchasing the latest issues of Heat and Now magazines to gorge on gossip-filled columns about bland celebs such as Jordan and Peaches Geldoff. Even Kate Moss seems to be a national heroine whilst all she's famous for is looking good in clothes and hanging with rock stars. Reading The Guardian Weekend's recent interview with Keira Knightley, I smiled to myself when I came across the quotation from another Guardian article cited by Sam Wollaston - "If you want to befriend a woman, ask her the question, 'What do you think of Keira Knightley?' In the resulting torrent of bile and loathing, you will bond." Whilst this ironic observation is amusing, it's also rather sad, I think. Why is it that we British seem so keen on bringing down those of us who are fortunate enough to 'have it all'? - especially if the subject in question is a young woman?
Answers, please...

More T-shirt designs

2008-08-26T19:11:00.000+01:00

I'll be selling my hand-painted T-shirts at Islington Art Market this Saturday, 30 August.
Here's a little preview. The colours aren't 100% accurate in reproduction but you'll have an overall idea of the designs.
Hope to see those of you can make it on Saturday!

The Highlight of my Summer

2008-08-24T12:53:00.001+01:00

Back in July, I spent two delightful days painting at artist Tom Davies' studio in Ealing. My friend Aliette organised it and it was wonderful. Interestingly, this stunning studio is in a community centre that used to be a boarding school for orphans - and numbers Charlie Chaplin as one of its alumni!
Here are some pictures of the studio, with Tom, Aliette, Tom's artwork, and some of the paintings done by me and the other students. (My painting is in the right hand corner of the second picture down).

Enough to make you (arti)choke

2008-08-14T08:23:00.000+01:00

Ok, so we know that Italy is famous for its trashy TV, the botoxed appearance and plunging necklines of its female newsreaders, its age-defying, right wing, media oligarch prime minister and his equally surgically-enhanced wife, and the popularity of the 'velline' - the specific name given to the women employed to 'beautify' normal game shows such as Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and even quite serious sports discussion programmes, by prancing around half naked and smiling sweetly (but never talking, of course).

However, my opinion of Italian trash culture plummeted further still during my visit to Positano last week. Reading through the well respected, Milan-printed broadsheet Corriere della Sera, I came across two things that struck me - firstly, in the 'Culture' section, I was surprised to find listings of the latest local beauty contests alongside musings on opera and theatre.

Then I came across a gem in Italian advertising - I've seen gratuitous images of naked women selling all manner of things emblazoned onto Italian billboards, but this surpassed them all. Take a look at this advert, splashed over whole pages in the country's broadsheets at the moment. It's for Moltalbano 'Gustoparty' - a fancy sounding brand of pickled artichoke . In order to promote the savoury nibbles, a semi-naked woman has been pictured from the back as she turns her head provocatively towards the viewer. Her body is juxtaposed with a jar of the aforementioned edible product, enlarged of course. To weave some kind of link between the young woman wearing leopard print knickers and the jar of fat, green vegetables, the advertising company have imaginatively placed an artichoke tattoo on the model's right shoulder. I think the message is, that it's a 'voglia naturale' (natural desire) to eat the artichokes just as it is for a (male) reader to fancy the female model. And, I suppose, the advertisers are hoping that women readers might believe that by opting for 'Gustoparty' artichokes for their aperetivo, they might suddenly become more slender and beautiful. 'Gustoparty' literally means 'taste party', but could perhaps translate as 'party of the taste buds'. Perhaps they're suggesting that a summer festa is only complete with a semi-naked woman and a jar of carciofi. Now there's tenuous, and there's tenuous....

Sketches from the Amalfi coast

2008-08-11T11:32:00.001+01:00

Positano pics

2008-08-11T10:50:00.000+01:00

Canal Boat, 2007

2008-07-25T19:05:00.000+01:00

Paris Sketches, etc

2008-07-25T19:02:00.000+01:00

Maillol statue; Marais pigeons; Rodin sculpture; Bastille Café scene; Liverpool bar

India Paintings, 2005

2008-07-25T19:00:00.000+01:00

Madurai airport; views from boat and overnight train in Kerala; Bangalore flower pot

French Sketching 2005-7

2008-07-25T18:43:00.000+01:00

Sanary-sur-Mer, Marseille, Carantec, La Rochelle, etc

Lean, Mean, Filmmaking Machine

2008-07-24T21:25:00.000+01:00

Last night I was one of the lucky few who managed to see Lawrence Arabia on the big screen at the NFT.

It was one of the best cinematic experiences of my life, I'd say. I'm not exaggerating. And as anyone who knows me will confirm, I do spend quite a lot of time watching (and raving about) films.

What's so great about it? Well, it's about a fascinating, real-life character, to start with. Combine this with a compelling performance by Peter O'Toole, ravishing cinematography that really captures the romantic vastness and brutality of the desolate, arid landscape with its sweeping dunes and uncompromising sun, a sensitive treatment of contemporary issues of race, colonialism and national pride, and most of all humour - and you have a masterpiece which has real staying power.

I saw Lean's Bridge On the River Kwai (1957) the other day, which is also excellent, combining an appreciation of the lush Ceylon landscapes with an intriguing, at times nail-biting plot based (loosely this time) on real events. But you can't compare it to Lawrence of Arabia.. The earlier film also centres round a stubborn, determined and most of all principled, English military man, who takes on an almost obsessive will to succeed in a particular - and unlikely - task. Alec Guinness' character - a colonel turned POW in a Japanese WW2 camp - becomes so involved in directing his men to build a bridge for his Japanese captor in the name of pride, that he forgets why he's building it, concluding in the film's disastrous,decadently riveting finale. In Lawrence of Arabia, O'Toole's T.E. Lawrence almost forgets which side he's on. Or does he? We're never really sure quite what Lawrence is thinking, who he's leading on, or indeed whether he knows himself. And this is where Lawrence becomes a masterpiece, overshadowing Kwai as a beautiful yet imperfect preparatory study.

Lean's masterful editing is another factor in Lawrence of Arabia's staying power - viewers of today, used to the conventional 90 minute movie slot, are still left riveted (a few times I scanned faces in the massive NFT1 auditorium to check), because the pace never slows down. Something is always happening, the voyage is continually taking place - and consequently viewers are transfixed. Reading the NFT handout after the film, I discovered that Lean had begun his cinematic career as editor, and still saw himself as one when making the film - and it shows. Not one scene in the 228 minute feature felt too long. I was captivated throughout.

There's one other thing that distinguishes Lawrence from Kwai. The earlier film does feel rather dated in its depiction of stereotypes (the happy-go-lucky American, the stiff-upper lip Englishman who is all principles and honour, and the belligerent Japanese general who appreciates English whiskey but not English morals). This may be knowingly done, but for some reason it grates when watched half a century later. Lawrence, on the other hand, doesn't feel so dated - well, barring O'Toole's eyeliner and orange makeup, Guinness' false nose, and an inevitable typecasting of minor characters into racial stereotypes. And we have to consider the time the context within which the film was made. On the whole, the characterisation of the main protagonists in Lawrence or Arabia is complex and thought-provoking.

The scene where Lawrence strides through a gawking hoarde of British officers as it parts down the middle to let him through- creating a strikingly Biblical vision - is particularly poignant for modern viewers, just as it must have been at the time of release. Conflicts in the Middle East are still rife today, and racial prejudice, greed and ignorance (a favourite word of Lawrence's) are at the roots of this, as we all know. Incongruously perhaps for the time, Lean steers clear from any jingoistic claims or didactic messages. His film doesn't portray Lawrence as a martyr figure, far from it.

The film's biblical leitmotiv, beginning with the associations attached to the geographical location itself, and bleeding into the film's narrative, with Lawrence's own self-comparison to Moses (crossing Sinai) and Jesus (the walking on water), are not intended to hint at the eponymous hero's status as martyr, but rather to suggest his human falllibility. For all the film's pomp and grandeur (epitomised in its sweeping, wide angle shots of desert accompanied by a beautifully majestic soundtrack), it's ultimately this human side to Lawrence, intertwined with an appreciation that he is also 'extraordinary', and finally an acknowledgment that there is no easy answer to racial conflict, that makes the film what it is. This isn't a predictable Hollywood-style epic saga of heroes versus villains. It's far more complicated than that, and so it should be.

I've begun to wonder whether the five-year gap between the release of the two films, and their differing portrayals of Britishness, are more deeply related to contemporary conflicts than initially evident. Lawrence of Arabia was released six years after the 1956 Suez Crisis.The Bridge on the River Kwai, on the other hand, was released just one year after Nasser attempted to nationalise the Suez Canal, sending shockwaves down Britain and undermining the apparent might of British colonial rule. Further, this WW2-themed film was made just a decade after India's declaration of independence, and at a time when tensions were brewing in other territories such as East Africa. Whilst Lawrence of Arabia seems sufficiently detached from patriotic concerns resulting from Suez (and, implicitly, other territories), Kwai cannot shake off colonial preoccupations. The sympathetic portrayal of Guinness' Colonel and his stoical British determination, versus the elusive quality of O'Toole's Lawrence, may well have something to do with these contextual factors.

It's great that we have the opportunity to rediscover David Lean, who not only managed to capture the spirit of his century with subtlety and complexity, but also knew how to tell a bloody good story.

On Sunday I'm going to see Doctor Zhivago (1965). I can't wait.

(Images: Lawrence of Arabia; The Bridge on the River Kwai)

The Label Issue

2008-07-19T08:36:00.000+01:00

Last Monday, Tom Lubbock wrote an article in The Independent challenging the need to label artworks in museum spaces. Taking Martin Creed's new piece at the Tate Britain, Work no. 850, as a starting point, Lubbock launches into an interesting debate about contemporary artspeak. I don't agree with all of his argument, but some parts do ring true. Click here to read it:
Is art running out of ideas? Artists forced to explain modern art

Turning on radio 4 this morning, I heard Lubbock himself talking about the issue with the presenter and a 'label curator'. Lubbock has in the past suggested that labels be separated from displayed artworks in an exhibition. His idea is, we should all face the challenge of having to engage with the work before us, rather than relying on information labels to tell us what to think. I agree with this point. However, he seems a little militant about the fact that going to an exhibition should be a difficult, challenging experience. This idea doesn't work because people go to exhibitions for different reasons - sometimes just to relax, sometimes to socialise. Another reason for gallery visits is to learn more about art history and new trends in contemporary art - in which case information labels can be very useful in contextualising an artist's practice, an art movement, or a particular piece. However, I do agree with Lubbock that these labels shouldn't be stuck right next to artworks, but placed in a different area for people to refer to if they really want to. Certain people don't like this idea - Michael Winner apparently spoke defiantly against the idea at the time saying 'if I need exercise I'd go to the gym' (but then again he probably should). Yet maybe we've just become too accustomed to having the labels there, and have begun to rely on them too much.

Michael Winner would need to skip his gym session to visit Dia:Beacon in upstate New York - this wonderful contemporary art space is in keeping with Lubbock's viewpoint, providing portable information packs about each artist on show discretely tucked at the corner of each room, so that visitors can choose whether to pick one up or not. I think this is perhaps the best approach - we can look at an artwork first and think about what it makes us feel, but then, having read some more about it, look at the work again and see whether or not this changes our reactions to it. I haven't yet seen Martin Creed's piece at Tate Britain but I'm wondering whether the same approach is used there. It certainly is at the Cy Twombly at Tate Modern - I liked the fact that I could carry around a little booklet on the artist and dip in and out of it whilst I moved from room to room.

I also have to say that audio guides can provide an excellent insight into certain artists' work - I used one when visiting the Richard Prince show at the Guggenheim and the Gustave Courbet retrospective at the Met in New York. I learned a great deal from them - the Richard Prince guide was particularly insightful as it provided various takes on Prince's art, including anecdotes from a New Yorker cartoonist, and an exploration of the origins of one-liners from a stand-up comedian. What's good about audio guides is they don't detract from our looking. They're also optional, so we can choose whether we want this added information or not. The worst thing to see in a gallery is people peering intently at labels for several minutes and then glancing quickly at the artwork itself, before moving onto the next piece and the next label.

Evidently, the issue lies deeper than the labels. It's embedded within the whole system of art practice and consumption. Last year I worked at SculptureCenter, a small, contemporary art space in New York. It was my job to edit all the 'artist statements' and resumes of people exhibiting in the space. It was also my task to filter all incoming proposals from prospective artists. I realised that artists are trained to represent themselves by means of documents such as an 'artist's statement', summing up their very being as an artist with one flimsy document. I find this system in itself problematic. At best it can lead to an over-simplification of an artist's complex thought process; at worst it can lead to very pretentious claims. Jonathon Jones responds to this idea on his Guardian blog.

I would also add that, like it or not, not all artists are great writers, so why should we force them to write? We don't ask authors to capture the essence of their written work by drawing diagrams. This may seem like an absurd analogy to make, but it isn't really if you think about it. Artists have a gift to communicate primarily through images, (and also sounds, or, in the case of Martin Creed, situations and juxtapositions) - not words. Yes, text can be integral to an artwork itself - take John Baldessari, Liam Gillick or Tracy Emin for example - but that's different to all these peripheral texts aimed at justifying or explaining its existence. Of course, if an artist really feels it is necessary to explain a certain aspect of their work, then it's important they do so. But when it's just expected of them, that's where the problems begin.

In consideration of this, see Lubbock's reference to art critic Susan Sontag's take on the purpose of art. Strategically placing Sontag's words at the end of his article, Lubbock demonstrates how art is about opening up debate rather than reducing it to one particular 'meaning'. The Chapman brothers realise this, and a visit to their recent exhibition If Hitler Had Been a Hippy How Happy Would We Be at the White Cube proves that you don't need written explanations for the artworks before your eyes. The White Cube press release reveals nothing about the Chapman brothers' extraordinary works, instead offering visitors a very brief resume of each artist's career. So much the better - we're left to think for ourselves, react with our own instincts, and, most of all, ask ourselves questions rather than relying on pre-prepared answers.

(images:
1) Martin Creed's installation at Tate Britain
2) Still from Baldessari's I am Making Art, 1971. This video performance challenges the pomposity of artspeak with its supposed simplicity. Yet beneath the deliberately monochrome, monotonous exterior, there are plenty of interesting ideas to be found. These are all the more exciting if we find them ourselves, as I discovered during a seminar with my fellow Guggenheim interns at MoMA earlier this year.)

I love the Southbank

2008-07-17T10:40:00.000+01:00

Home of the National Theatre, BFI, The Hayward, the Tate and more - this is one of my favourite parts of London. Recently I've enjoyed watching The Pitmen Painters at the National Theatre, and Guy Maddin's My Winnipeg (2007) at the NFT. I'm excited about going to see David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia (1962) next week.

Chelsea Hotel, New York Subways + Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

2008-07-17T10:09:00.000+01:00

- My first visit to my friend Rupert at Harvard in September 2007 included a wonderful afternoon spent at the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum. After all that cycling, sightseeing, pizza eating and organic hippy ice cream scoffing, it was nice to chill out in the museum's elegant, Moorish arched cloister, which is filled with exotic looking flowers and ancient statues. It was my favourite Boston museum, and one of the artistic highlights of my stay on the East Coast. (Seeing Georges Seurat's sketches at MoMA at Christmas was another). Here's a sketch of Rupert in his seersucker trousers, chilling out against a pillar surrounded by leaves and flowers.

- Subway sketching (on the 'C' train...)

-I was at a gallery opening at the famous Chelsea Hotel one muggy August evening last year. Sitting on the narrow balcony sipping cool beer, it was a great time to talk to artists and people-watch. I saw a girl wearing a gorgeous white dress with a bold, red flower print. I just had to do a sketch of it.

Maddie

2008-07-17T09:18:00.000+01:00

Maddie is the ten year old girl I used to look after in New York.
Here are some sketches I did of her.

Wink the Other Eye

2008-07-17T01:20:00.000+01:00

I'll hopefully be winking in approval soon...

My friend Leah is assistant director on what looks to be an exciting show - a Victorian-style dancehall performance taking place at Wilton's Music Hall - the world's oldest and last surviving dance hall.

Wink the Other Eye will be running 'Positively for Twenty-six Nights Only', from 17th July.

(above image: Wilton's Music Hall in Tower Hamlets, London)

You can take the girl out of New York...

2008-07-17T00:15:00.000+01:00

(Above: Downtown NYC - a striking contrast to leafy Brooklyn)

Whilst my life in the big apple is fading further into the past, certain habits haven't rubbed off yet. I may have just about got used to saying 'toilet' without feeling strangely vulgar whilst doing so. Yet it's strange that, despite two decades' worth of English education compared to only nine months living in America, I still stop for a moment when using an 's' instead of a 'z' in words like 'authorisation', or when writing dates as day/month/year. Maybe the letter 'z' is just more eye-catching than 's'. As for calendar dates, I suppose as Brits we're used to hearing phrases such as 'September 11', so it's very easy to adapt to the format where the day comes after the month.

On the other hand, certain things are happily left behind. These include:

- Strange roommates found on Craigslist who seemed OK when I first met them.

-The 'C' Brooklyn-bound subway line. Especially at weekends when it's known to transform into an 'F' and skip stops. Or, worse still, suddenly switches to the express track at nighttime, skipping my stop and leaving me stranded in the delightfully named Hoyt-Schermerhorn station. Not to be recommended on a dark, rainy night.

- Trying to get a cab back to Brooklyn when it's 3am in Manhattan and raining.

- The near-impossible task of getting a nice espresso, or a macchiatto that isn't the size of a cappuccino.

- Neurotic, depressive New York men (no more tales of 'locationally circumscribed self-loathing' please!)

- The bitter, relentless winter. But then again that's outweighed by the marvellous, long-lasting summer...

Erm... well that's all about all I can muster. The verdict is, New York has more pro's than cons to it. But you didn't need me to tell you that!

That said, London would fare well in such a test too. Today for example, I swam with a swan at Hampstead Heath Ladies' pond. The pond (which actually resembles a mini-lake) is one of my favourite summertime haunts in the city, set within the beautiful Hampstead Heath. This proximity with nature is one thing missing from New York - central park doesn't count, it's too built up; Brooklyn's Prospect Park, though very pretty, is too small and far from the town centre. One of London's best features is its wealth of well-kept parks.

The Wharf

2008-07-16T23:49:00.000+01:00

One of the advantages of trekking all the way to Canary Wharf for work:

I just love being so close to the water, and I do like the ultra-modern feel over there. It's also fun to watch all the bankers congregating outside Canary Wharf station. I do wonder what kind of things they've been up to during the day, and how far removed it must be from the kind of stuff I've been doing. The most fun bit is going into the underground shopping centre linked to the tube station. The wide array of commerce there caters for every 'essential' for a busy working day (or night), such as sushi, Jo Malone perfume and L.K. Bennett shoes. On ground level, there's even a Carluccio's and various other posh eateries/ watering holes. With everything there, why even leave the wharf at all? Scarily, there are some people who scarcely do. Soon, they won't have to at all, with the hundreds of luxury flats springing up all over the place.

Mercutio and Gang Crime

2008-07-16T22:45:00.000+01:00

Once again, Boris Johnson has brought literature and foreign languages into politics. A few weeks ago, it was ancient Greek and Latin - and how teaching it at schools could help curb the rates of knife crime. Personally, I think that learning Latin and Greek as a tool to combat violent crime is a little far-fetched. And, as Charlotte Higgins pointed out on Comment is Free, he's hardly the guy to rid Classics of its 'posh' image.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/jun/06/classics.boris
And anyway, what about Modern Languages? It's now optional for 14-16 year olds to study a foreign language at all. As a linguist myself, I think this is a more serious consideration than worrying about ancient languages. Through studying Modern Languages, a lot can be learned about how different societies work. Indirectly, this can lead to a better understanding of others, which can only be a good thing in working towards a more tolerant, less violent society.

This time round, London's mayor has brought things closer to home, referring to English literature. Speaking again on knife crime yesterday, Johnson drew a parrellel between the capital's gang culture and Mercutio in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Here's a link to an article in yesterday's Guardian on Johnson's new idea:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2008/jul/15/knifecrime.justice
Whether or not we agree with Johnson's argument, I think it's great that we're having this debate at all. The idea's out there - it's up to us to decide what to make of it. Does it make sense? Studying Shakespeare may not in itself help combat knife crime. However, making literature and history exciting, accessible - and most of all relevant - to young people is so important. Then perhaps - just perhaps - if kids find school a more inspiring place, then eventually they won't turn to crime at all. Of course, things aren't as simple as that in the real world. But it's great that we're discussing this at all.

On a lighter note, Johnson's literary considerations may quell possible nightmares related to imagining our prime minister descending from Yorkshire's thunderous moors....

(image: Harold Perrineau as Mercutio, alongside Leonardo di Caprio's Romeo in Baz Luhrumann's Romeo and Juliet (1996) )

Travelling idea

2008-07-14T22:30:00.000+01:00

I came across this quote on the BBC Four website and quite liked it:

"The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are."

Samuel Johnson

A Critical Era

2008-07-14T21:42:00.000+01:00

During the past few months, the media world has been feeling restless and uncertain about its future.

One journalistic position that seems to be most in peril at the moment is that of the critic. Sunday's Observer feature addresses this issue. Taking recent statistics from America, where the value of the critic is undergoing severe scrutiny, Jay Rayner analyses the argument from both sides of the coin. He talks to young bloggers and veteran critics, and a few people in between. I liked the article, and it certainly sums up certain ideas that constantly resurface when chatting to with friends and colleagues in the media world:

http://arts.guardian.co.uk/art/visualart/story/0,,2290623,00.html

Is there a right or wrong answer to the fate of the critic? Probably not - but I personally don't feel too negative about the situation. Yes, the media world is changing, and bloggers like me are able to write freely, in terms of both subject, time and content: I can write about whatever I like, when I like, and how I like. This is liberating and I enjoy the potentials for creativity it brings. Yet I also savour the challenge of writing for the press, tailoring my argument to fit a particular frame-work or word-count, and the thought process involved when angling towards a particular readership. This is an exercise in itself, and it definitely alters the way one approaches criticism.

Just as Britain has a great academic tradition - which isn't, contrary to the stereotype, a fusty, old man's club anymore but alive and filled with young blood - we have, as Brian Sewell puts it, a wonderful tradition of criticism. And along with that comes our ability to say what we think, often expressing our opinions with humour. I never read A.A Gill's restaurant reviews in view of going to the restaurant (I can't afford to eat out, full stop). Of course I don't - his pieces aren't really about the food at all - his culinary contemplations often take up less than 50 per cent of his writing. No, I read them because he writes with style and wit. Same goes for Giles Coren. As for film reviews, good critics don't restrict themselves to the film in question, but will often bring in references to other films, and indeed their own, personal reactions. Of course, bloggers can do this, but they haven't gone through an interview process to get their job, and are perhaps less careful than they might have been if this were the case. And, from my experience, careful can sometimes mean thoughtful, too.

(images: food critics A.A. Gill, Giles Coren; Guardian film critic Peter Bradshaw)

Blonde Explosion

2008-07-14T21:06:00.000+01:00

Has anyone noticed how, since the Agyness Deyn phenomenon has kicked in good and proper, all the fashion supplements are using models with peroxide blonde crops?

As ever, Vogue magazine may have something to do with this. Since Deyn graced their cover in June 2007, her career has rocketed. 12 months later, she's on the cover again just to prove she isn't a passing phase. And she does look cool.

However, all those other Deyn lookalikes don't. Yes, the model Elena Sudakova pictured in Saturday's Telegraph magazine does have a sleek, über-sporty, Germanic look and that ice blonde crop sets it off well. It also complements the pale shades of the arid landscape she is framed against. Yes, the fluffy, oversized peroxide quiff worn by Zoe Brown in the Guardian weekend magazine combines well with the androgynous yet slinky look she's modelling. Unfortunately, the fact that these girls look good just isn't enough - the fashion world being what it is, only one person can reign supreme when it comes to an image-defining look. Kate Moss does it time and again, from 'that' crop back in the late 90s to her 70s-style, middle-parted straight locks. Each style makes a statement, whether it's carefree (Kate's long locks) or rock-chick (Agyness' do). It's a catch-22 though - those Deyns and Mosses set the trends, albeit unwittingly, and stylists take their cue... until everyone else jumps on the bandwaggon, and gradually (sometimes too gradually though) the public gets bored.

The aforementioned Deyn look, in this case, is a curse and a blessing. A curse, because now we have to face an onslaught of fashion pages graced by a range models wearing the look. The blessing lies in the fact that, thankfully, this particular hairstyle won't look good on everyone (imagining myself sporting the look quite frankly scares me, as it would anyone who hasn't got an English-rose complexion). There's also the fact that Deyn has the rock 'n' roll lifestyle to match her dramatic hairdo, and most of us don't. So at least we won't have to walk down the street filled with wannabe Agynesses - although believe me I've spotted a few.

(pictures: Deyn as Vogue cover girl: June 2008; June 2007)

Brooklyn Memories

2008-07-12T13:40:00.000+01:00

People have been asking me recently whether I miss New York.
Not sure if I 'miss' it as such - I'm quite good at adapting to places, having moved around quite a bit in my life. But I certainly do feel nostalgic sometimes, about my friends and also certain places.
Here are a few snapshots into my area of Brooklyn, taken during the 9 months I lived there.

Locations: Clinton Hill; Fort Greene; Park Slope
Seasons: Fall, Winter '07; Spring, early Summer '08

Lower East Side scenes

2008-07-12T09:02:00.000+01:00

Some drawings I did during a lazy late spring afternoon in a Ludlow Street bistro in downtown New York.

Pocket Caravan

2008-07-12T01:21:00.000+01:00

Tonight I went to see the band Pocket Caravan perform at Shunt night club in London Bridge.

One of my best friend's boyfriends is the guitarist in the band and this is the first time I've heard them, as I was in New York for all their last gigs.

It was Pocket Caravan's album launch today. I loved the music. Their style is eclectic, blending central European folk with a strong Brazilian feel, owing to the Brazilian musicians in the band. It instantly reminded me a lot of Tony Gatlif, the French filmmaker/musician of Gypsy/Algerian descent. Since seeing his film Transylvania last year I've been a huge fan and listen to his music all the time. I found out afterwards that Gatlif is indeed an influence on the band. But most of all, their sound is distinctive and different - a welcome contrast to the copycat sounds circulating in the British indie music scene. I've bought the album, but I'm looking forward to hearing more live gigs too.

http://pocketcaravan.co.uk/

Sunday Art

2008-07-06T21:25:00.000+01:00

Just went to see the Cy Twombly at the Tate.
Loved it.
Started reading a wonderful essay by Roland Barthes on Twombly's art, and thought it might be nice to buy the book it's published in. I turned it over and saw it cost £72, so that put a stop to that idea...
The postcards didn't really do the work justice, so I'll just have to keep images of the paintings in my mind. And luckily the show is on until September so I can go back.

Job Hunt

2008-07-03T19:33:00.001+01:00

So, I've now been back from NY a while. The honeymoon period is over. I've no longer got the excuse of having 'just got back' from the States; it's almost been two months now. And having finished the couple of short-term work placements I had lined up for my return, I've now officially joined the thousands of others in the UK and beyond who are struggling to find full-time employment

A blogger friend of mine in NY (see sidebar on right, below) recounted her own experiences of job hunting in the States earlier this year, and the stigma attached to the notion of being 'unemployed'. Things aren't any better on this side of the pond. For people like me, who graduated within the last two years or so and are looking for a career in the media, arts & heritage or development work, the future is looking increasingly bleak. More and more people I know or have just met are giving up their quest for the job they really wanted, and opting for the guarantee of financial stability that comes with doing a law conversion course.

But what about people who are passionate about the arts, and couldn't bring themselves to go down that route? A large proportion of my contemporaries have done unpaid internship upon unpaid internship, sprinkled with stints behind a bar here and babysitting there, often rounded off with a Masters degree - and they still can't find a full-time job in the field of their choice.

During my internship at the Guggenheim in New York, I worked alongside (mainly European) girls who all have postgraduate degrees from the best universities in the UK, Italy and France, but are still working for free, either full-time or four days per week. One German friend of mine was (and still probably is) working full time at the Guggenheim, unpaid, with a PhD from the Sorbonne under her belt. She's in her early 30s, attractive, highly intelligent and trilingual. Another friend of mine is 27 years old, received a commendation for her Masters from La Sapienza in Rome and speaks 3 languages. She's still serving pizzas at night after working in the Guggenheim curatorial department all day, to make ends meet. The worrying thing is, she and several other Italian girls chose to move to New York because the job market is even worse in their home country.

Funnily enough, London is seen by my French and Italian friends as a place filled with job opportunities. This may have been true a few years ago, but it doesn't seem so now. My peers from Cambridge and other top universities are doing temping work and unpaid placements. I'm not saying internships like these are a bad thing - I gained so much experience, and also made some wonderful friends during my time at the Guggenheim and all the other journalistic placements I've done in Europe. What is bad, however, is the fact that after the work placements are over, there doesn't seem to be a 'next step', except doing another unpaid placement.

The problem is that there just aren't enough jobs to go round. So, for the few jobs that are advertised, the competition is fierce. Most applications these days require tediously long forms which take hours to fill in, and then at the end of it all you may not even be invited for interview. As a result, many excellent candidates are discounted before the employer has even met them.

What can we do about it? Well it seems that the current economic climate isn't going to change for a while. So I'm not sure if there's much we can do, except try and stay positive, keep persevering and in the mean time do some temping work - or become a lawyer. Unfortunately, that's one thing I just couldn't do...

Moreau Mania

2008-06-29T13:18:00.000+01:00

This week I managed to catch a couple of the Jeanne Moreau films currently being screened at the National Film Theatre. Moreau is one of my favourite French actresses, and she also happens to star in three of my favourite films of all time, Louis Malle's L'Ascenseur pour L'Echafaud (1958) and François Truffaut's Jules et Jim (1962) and Luis Buñuel's Diary of a Chambermaid (1964)

The two films I saw this week are lesser-known: Malle's Le Feu Follet (1963) and Joseph Losey's Eva (1962). Le Feu Follet captures a similar sense of malaise and discontent that permeates his earlier film, but the two contrast in style. Whilst L'Ascenseur seduces the audience with its slick cinematography, heightened film noir feel, and stunning Miles Davis sountrack, Le Feu Follet is more subtle, more overtly troubling. Also, whilst Malle's earlier work is overtly cinematic, almost a pastiche of the film noir genre and the femme fatale figure (played exquisitely by Jeanne Moreau), Le Feu Follet is a moving portrayal of a troubled male protagonist, Alain. The film covers the period of time in which Alain copes with entering the real world after recovering from an alcohol addiction, from his dismissal from a private clinic to his tragic suicide. Compared to Malle's earlier feature, where she has centre-stage (encapsulated by the famous scene where her character walks the dark, rainy streets of Paris in desperate search of her doomed lover), Moreau has a very minor part in this film. But of course when she does appear on-screen as one of the protagonist's former lovers, her presence is captivating.

Eva, on the other hand, is rather a clumsy hotch-potch of a film - or at least at first appearances. Moving in places, yet verging on melodrama in others, most of all it is far too long. It tells the story of a Welshman (Stanley Baker), a writer and social climber from a working class background, who is ruined by his relationship with a cruel yet beautiful femme fatale (Jeanne Moreau, of course). Because of its length - at various instances I was convinced the dénouement was around the corner, but then another scene followed, and then another - it made for rather difficult viewing. Aside from some beautiful location shots of Venice, its foggy alleyways and the heady decadence of its bars, hotels and gambling joints, and almost a ciné-vérité feel at times (Peggy Guggenheim even makes a bespectacled appearance), it is Moreau's expressive, sensitive interpretation of the role saves the film from descending into melodrama. There is something about her face that is bewitching, with its capacity to light up with a flirtatious smile and suddenly switch to a piercing, malevolent glare, that allows her to bring complexity and mystery to every role she plays. Even in one scene, when she walks among some large, marble busts of historic figures with Baker in the early hours, talking to the statues in a wistful tone and moving her hands over the contours of their faces, Moreau retains her intriguing aura and keeps the viewer's interest. If a less-able actress had acted in this scene, it would have been painfully clichéd. So in the end, the film is more complex than its plot may have us believe. Like his Italian contemporaries, Antonioni, Risi, et al, Losey manages to convey a sense of emptiness, cruelty and deadly ambition beneath the veneer of glamour and elegance in high-society.

(images: Jeanne Moreau in Le Feu Follet, Jules et Jim and L'Ascenseur pour L'Echafaud)

Lazing in Hell's Kitchen

2008-06-19T17:14:00.000+01:00

You may have noticed that my blog has gone back in time a bit. There are two reasons for this: firstly, I was too busy having a good time to write all of my NY experiences up as they were happening; secondly, I am being forced into taking it easy for once, as I've been unwell for the past week. The one plus-side of being ill is that you have more of a chance to sit back and reflect. And I definitely have a lot to be nostalgic about after nine frenetic New York months.

These are some drawings I did of my friend Milenna in a diner in Hell's Kitchen. Intending to visit the famous Hell's Kitchen market, we met at 14th street and bravely marched along 11th avenue to reach it, despite the savage wind blowing from the Hudson and our lack of umbrellas. Faced with the disappointingly meagre array of goods on offer at the market, we didn't stay long, and stallholders had already begun to close up due to the leaden sky. So instead, we huddleed up at a formica table in the diner across the street and ordered true diner fare, oatmeal and banana for myself and eggs benedict for Milenna. We ate, talked, made room for Milenna's friend Kobai and her visitors from Berlin when they arrived post-Ellis island, and sketched. Milenna, now used to me scribbling at any given social occasion, asked for a sheet from my pad and some crayons and joined in this time, to my delight. Despite the slightly dingy feel of a place that probably hasn't changed decor for at least fifteen years, the diner was brightened up by (real) flowers on the low windowsills and the late afternoon light streaming through the large windows. After a nice long break we set off downtown, via the huge H&M on 34th Street where we both wandered round collecting piles of garments, and surprised ourselves in the changing rooms to find we'd both picked out the same things.

New York When It Sizzles

2008-06-19T12:01:00.000+01:00

Here are some paintings I did on a couple of sunny days in late New York springtime. It's amazing how the weather changes from biting cold to dazzling sunshine in a matter of days over there. The Greenwich paintings (the first two) were painted on the same afternoon, just up the road from the downtown Guggenheim offices where I used to work. I painted the Washington Square Park scene later, in early May, when all the students were fervently revising despite the gorgeous weather. It's a shame that the park is now under construction, but I found a nice, unspoiled corner with a good view of the red-brick NYU cottages and some lovely trees.

(Gardens of St.Luke in the Field with Cherry Blossom; Hudson Diner; Washington Square Park)

Candy Colours

2008-06-18T16:32:00.000+01:00

of Notting Hill

souvenir

2008-06-18T16:14:00.000+01:00

As I mentioned in my post on Yoko's opening in New York, I don't have any pictures of myself with the artist. But a friend of mine sent me this, that he'd managed to take with his camera. Think it's quite nice!

It was 3 years ago, but...

2008-06-18T16:08:00.000+01:00

...it's still real!
This was taken after a wonderful production of Blood Wedding at the Almeida in Islington. It just about makes up for the fact that I haven't made it to Cannes - yet.

Cinema, Italian Style

2008-06-11T08:28:00.001+01:00

Last year it was Antonioni, this year it's Dino Risi - yet another great filmmaker from the heyday of Italian cinema passed away on Saturday. He died aged 91.

Risi may not be as well known internationally as Antonioni, whose beautifully slow, troubling films capture the malaise beneath the veneer of a new, booming Italy. Instead, Risi made a name for himself as the master of Commedia all'Italiana - a genre that includes sizzling titles such as Divorza all'Italiana (Divorce, Italian Style, 1961) by Pietro Germi, and his own Profumo di Donna (Scent of a Woman, 1974). However, Risi's critical masterpiece and now cult-classic is more in line with Antonioni's disqueting yet seductive take on modern Italy. It's called Il Sorpasso (The Easy Life, 1962), and tells the tragic story of a wealthy layabout (played beautifully by Vittorio Gassman) who encourages a hard-working young boy to abandon his books in favour of a day of fast cars and pretty women. I won't reveal the ending, but it comes as a sudden and nasty shock - the surface gloss gives way to deep cracks, and the viewer is left to wander the meaning of it all. Fellini's La Dolce Vita, made just two years before Gassman's film, carries a similar message, despite the glossy, über-cinematic quality of its mise-en-scène, with its stunning costumes, palazzos and swish nightclubs which shout 'Hollywood' and 'economic miracle' simultaneously. Along with Antonioni's L'Avventura (1960), set on the breathtaking Italian riviera, and Visconti's stunning period feature set in the fading aristocracy of Sicily, Il Gattopardo (The Leopard, 1963), these films capture the best of Italian cinema at the time. All four directors communicate a sense of the hidden loss that goes hand in hand with youth, beauty and modernisation.

Writing about all these wonderful films has given me the appetite to watch them all again - it's been too long.

(image: Il Sorpasso)

Hampstead Heath in Bloom

2008-06-09T22:19:00.000+01:00

Ok, I admit it, these pics are actually from 3 weeks ago, when the stunning Kenwood rhodendrums were in full bloom. Now, sadly, the petals are already drying up and falling. But look at how they were then! I feel very lucky to live so near to Hampstead Heath, at least temporarily.

Sex and the City

2008-05-30T13:51:00.000+01:00

On Wednesday I went to see the new Sex and the City movie. I was lucky to get a ticket as movie theatres across the country were totally sold out.

Was I impressed? Well, not really, but I didn't expect to be. I knew the film could never live up to the hype, but was curious to see the final dénouement of the Carrie/Big saga.

I've always been a big fan of the series, mainly because of the clothes but also because the story is quite addictive, and there are always some great one-liners. Having lived in New York, I now feel I pick up on details that would have skipped my attention before. References to places such as Bed Bath and Beyond, Bergdorf Goodman, Pastis, City Hall, the Public Library, etc, now have more meaning. I also have to say that, despite not really missing NY since I left (mainly because I've been too busy), the film's Brooklyn Bridge scene did cause me to feel slightly teary-eyed. I used to love walking across that bridge.

Overall, I think the film delivered what the audience wanted - a happy ending but not sugary-sweet. However, I do feel that the overall cinematic experience was marred due to the high level of product placement. In fact, it seemed like the whole script was guided by different endorsements, from Christie's (one of the first scenes takes place at an auction there) to Pret a Manger (Carrie and Miranda delicately unwrap some very un-atkins sarnies, obviously to indicate that that the no-carbs diet is so 5 years ago, and also to hint at the presence of the British lunch joint in NY) to a list of the most exlcusive wedding dress designers (Vera Wang, Vivienne Westwood, etc), and of course: the Vuitton bag.

As one guy I spoke to after the show put it, the film encapsulates 'utter American captialism'. I'm not claiming to be against shopping culture, but I must admit that the lavish excesses of the film did make me feel a bit queasy.

Nevertheless, there were, as usual, some delightful comic lines, delivered mostly by Samantha of course.