Monday, May 16, 2016

Remembering Pink, Shalimar and A Dandelion

Stepping into an elevator when I was sixteen, the gentle drift of a fragrance that was not like my mother's Jean Nate bath splash, not her baby pink powder puffs of Calgon Talcum, not even like the almost-gone drops of her Joy perfume startled me. Feeling like one of the downtrodden girls in a 19th century novel asking for an immense favor, I closed my eyes to breathe the most wonderful scent, asking what it was.


Sometimes flowers do that, or a pink ceiling, even a dandelion popping though the hardness of concrete. Music, dreams. Memories.

Friday, May 13, 2016

Cloudy Moody Skewed Beauty

Slightly ominous, cloudy dark beach days skew the light and the images are removed from anything banal. A plastic camera leaking light, Holga or a Diana, oversized square images shattering the edges.

Lagerfeld shocking the light meter with his white hair and darkness, contrast muted.

Unlikely and suitable for threatening plain white walls.

Monday, May 2, 2016

"Polka Dots Are A Way To Infinity" Yayoi Kusama

Yayoi Kusama. Avant-garde artist, fashion designer, writer, woman. 

Yayoi Kusama is not a young woman although her eagerness and condensed excitement and compulsion cannot be suppressed. Once as important as Andy Warhol, perhaps more so, she was forgotten by the art world when confined to a mental institution in '75 in Japan. A beautiful woman with lovers left behind .. perhaps Joseph Cornell and Donald Judd. Art that sometimes originates in her hallucinations. She stays near the institution even as her work is found again, shown in major retrospectives at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, Walker Art Institute in Milwaukee, Tate Modern in London and the Whitney in New York. 

Her beautiful world. Her website is linked here. Infinity Net: The Autobiography of Yayoi Kusama is linked here.

"A polka-dot has the form of the sun, which is a symbol of the energy of the whole world and our living life, and also the form of the moon, which is calm. Round, soft, colourful, senseless and unknowing.

 Polka-dots can't stay alone; like the communicative life of people, two or three polka-dots become movement.

Polka-dots are a way to infinity.

It was not so simple, not so easy to come up with this way of living that I've had. I was given a sad life by fate, but I think I won a happy life. 
 Not one day has passed when I didn't think of suicide, but I'm very glad to be alive now. 
Most people are so preoccupied with their illness, sickness, and they live a very ordinary life. 
I was so involved and so engrossed with painting, and knew from my childhood that it could help me to overcome unhappiness.
If it were not for art, I would have killed myself a long time ago."  

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