Monday 6 August 2012
La Boudoir Dada Studio.: Russian in my blood : and a long and winding river...
La Boudoir Dada Studio.: Russian in my blood : and a long and winding river...: La Luna by Melwitz Folino. Tomaso Landolfi......an Italian author once wrote a story about folklore in southern Italy. The story was ab...
Russian in my blood : and a long and winding river.
La Luna by Melwitz Folino.Tomaso Landolfi......an Italian author once wrote a story about folklore in southern Italy.
The story was about to wolves who stole the moon and hid her in the flue of a chimney in their broken down old house.
The wolves wanted perpetual darkness and the only way to achieve this was to hide or murder the one thing that lit the night skies.......La Luna.
She had been lassoed from above by them and their wild hessian rope, and dragged down the muddy hill and thrown into the black narrow shaft of the chimney. Her soft luminous body was secreting a harlene substance.....and she faded fast and her light went out......murdered by the darkness.
When I read this story....I was visiting Moscow for the first time. My boyfriend was Russian and his family were from Kiev.....he did not come along as he was busy working.......he told me where to go and I discovered remarkable unseen forests and nature ...was the purest I had ever seen....they are great nature lovers the Russians.....built houses without nails by pigeon - doving wooden dowel together.
The wooden churches of Russia are unique to their culture....so utterly transfixing to observe.
I have always loved the culture of the old U.S.S.R and its massive contribution to the arts....its icons and wild totalitarian art works painted on a monumental scale for their people to be reminded of all that was there's, and there's alone........even though life was hard and uniform...the natural world and its rich and abundant resources....made the country.....one of the most powerful not seen by the rest of the world.
My man was a natural man....loved the river at the back of our house and could make almost anything out of nothing....a dexterity not seen much today......when he died I went to see him in his casket...his hands still big and beautiful....clasped with some sandalwood beads....the smell for all nature lovers.
On this day my love ........the smell lingers....in loving memory of Ross Zufer.
Friday 25 May 2012
La Boudoir Dada Studio.: Rome near the Trevi Fountain around 5 o'clock.
La Boudoir Dada Studio.: Rome near the Trevi Fountain around 5 o'clock.: blue parrot. Colin Lanceley was my Supervisor during my Post-Graduate in Painting in 1985 at City Art Institute.I was a Melbourne girl loo...
Rome near the Trevi Fountain around 5 o'clock.
Colin Lanceley was my Supervisor during my Post-Graduate in Painting in 1985 at City Art Institute.I was a Melbourne girl looking to live in Sydney and experience all it had to offer.
I lived minutes away on the ferry, out of the most magnificent harbour in the world.....on the waters edge a little place called Fairlight...near Manly.
Commuting was pure bliss....life was good and learning made me wake up in a frenzy....I was a painter being watched over, by the best working artist's Australia had to offer.
Of that year there were 13 students chosen to study that program. We were a diverse bunch with closed off studio spaces on the top floor.
Strangely none of us were close.Competitive notions all around I suspect....alas my time in this inner sanctum, grew more and more exciting by the day.Colin spent much of his time telling me stories about being a young artist knocking around with Whiteley and all the boys.One story I remember well was the day he won the Russell Drysdale Travelling Scholarship....he was 19.
It took him to Europe and down to Normandy....he was put up in a house like studio to do his work, when on a sunny afternoon a friend had arranged for an artist to come for a visit.....that artist was Joan Miro.
For most of the day I kept thinking how utterly unselfish Colin was, so generous in his recollections....to share those unique and unsurpassed moments......was him being a great teacher and a thoughtful mentor....before mentor's became a dime a dozen.
My time in that most memorable studio space in that year, created a fervor of excitement...a feeling I will long remember.
With 97 pieces of work and a one man show to end my time at C.A.I ...I purchased my ticket to ROME.
As a dual citizen with an Italian passaporto...thanks to my dear Papa....life would once again be full.
Stefania my cousin was studying journalism and living very close to the city centre...I was made very welcome indeed.....she and I would walk the Via's late into the nights meandering from one thrilling corner to another......eyeing the most beautiful boys in the world...roaming like a true roman.
Lit for the God's "The Fountain de Trevi"was enamoring to say the least.
One late afternoon we bought ice creams and sat around the fountain....I was spellbound by the way all the windows were dressed....merchandising heaven.The pane of the window looked like a sheet of glass made from a large cut diamond...so glassy and clean.I looked in to see the most stunning blue parrot broach.....it had a little embossed card suspended from a gold chain dangling from above...the beautifully hand written card said.."COLLECTION OF IRIS APFEL"........truly elegant.
To my left was a very cluttered magazine shop, with old editions of La Sposa Bella....one in particular had a woman's face photographed in purple....which I adored.
Collage had been a strong component of my work for along time and this one was made on my cousin Stefania's kitchen table...while she cooked dinner....I'm fond of this work for that reason.
Cascading water at the Trevi and sentimental wishes thrown in with the coins... my attentions turn to the cuckoo clock singing....... its 5 o'clock.
Viva Roma...sempre.
blue parrot.I lived minutes away on the ferry, out of the most magnificent harbour in the world.....on the waters edge a little place called Fairlight...near Manly.
Commuting was pure bliss....life was good and learning made me wake up in a frenzy....I was a painter being watched over, by the best working artist's Australia had to offer.
Of that year there were 13 students chosen to study that program. We were a diverse bunch with closed off studio spaces on the top floor.
Strangely none of us were close.Competitive notions all around I suspect....alas my time in this inner sanctum, grew more and more exciting by the day.Colin spent much of his time telling me stories about being a young artist knocking around with Whiteley and all the boys.One story I remember well was the day he won the Russell Drysdale Travelling Scholarship....he was 19.
It took him to Europe and down to Normandy....he was put up in a house like studio to do his work, when on a sunny afternoon a friend had arranged for an artist to come for a visit.....that artist was Joan Miro.
For most of the day I kept thinking how utterly unselfish Colin was, so generous in his recollections....to share those unique and unsurpassed moments......was him being a great teacher and a thoughtful mentor....before mentor's became a dime a dozen.
My time in that most memorable studio space in that year, created a fervor of excitement...a feeling I will long remember.
With 97 pieces of work and a one man show to end my time at C.A.I ...I purchased my ticket to ROME.
As a dual citizen with an Italian passaporto...thanks to my dear Papa....life would once again be full.
Stefania my cousin was studying journalism and living very close to the city centre...I was made very welcome indeed.....she and I would walk the Via's late into the nights meandering from one thrilling corner to another......eyeing the most beautiful boys in the world...roaming like a true roman.
Lit for the God's "The Fountain de Trevi"was enamoring to say the least.
One late afternoon we bought ice creams and sat around the fountain....I was spellbound by the way all the windows were dressed....merchandising heaven.The pane of the window looked like a sheet of glass made from a large cut diamond...so glassy and clean.I looked in to see the most stunning blue parrot broach.....it had a little embossed card suspended from a gold chain dangling from above...the beautifully hand written card said.."COLLECTION OF IRIS APFEL"........truly elegant.
To my left was a very cluttered magazine shop, with old editions of La Sposa Bella....one in particular had a woman's face photographed in purple....which I adored.
Collage had been a strong component of my work for along time and this one was made on my cousin Stefania's kitchen table...while she cooked dinner....I'm fond of this work for that reason.
Cascading water at the Trevi and sentimental wishes thrown in with the coins... my attentions turn to the cuckoo clock singing....... its 5 o'clock.
Viva Roma...sempre.
purple fiori'sThursday 24 May 2012
Mirror Mirror......tell to thee.
I am a free agent....my agency belongs to me ( alone).
A sensualist, I live to look and to feel.
Worthy or not, my life is my subject and my subject is my life.
By recollecting all the years past, a strange and yet beautiful image keeps meandering back into my thoughts.
After my father passed away, I decided to go back to England and continue to work and just live my life.
Grief and the sorrowful....walked around with me everyday...for a long time.
I took myself off to Paris for a break and a chance to spend some time with a dear friend who was living and working in Voltaire...there is an extremely old cemetery called "Pere Lachaise"...around the corner from my friends house and where I would spend some time walking and observing.
It was late autumn and dark red thin leaves were falling all around...it felt so quiet and strange somehow to be there....alas it did me good, even though it was a burial yard.
All most six hours passed by and I felt hungry and tired, I continued to walk.. and walk I did.
Many cafe's were open and I just thought to myself...this one will do.Paris has a cafe for every person alive and I seemed to find one that was about as low keyed, as I was feeling.
Ordered myself a tea and looked at myself in my compact mirror....dishevelled and cold..I turned my attentions to the man who had his back to me.
High backed cashmere coat with a funnel type collar...black and buttoned up..he was smoking a little cigarette.
Alone and introspective my focus became him, I stared at his hair and watched the gentle smoke from his cigarette, drift into the cold air.It was about five o'clock.The waiter came out and said thank you to him, he stood up to leave the table after butting out his finished cigarette, he turned his head to the right to view me.....it was Yves Saint Laurent.
Something went off like a bomb...inside me.
Was I seeing things...was it true to life.
He smiled at me and walked off...just like that.
Considering all I had gone through, my father and his death had catapulted me into another dimension.
This sighting of my most treasured of men, had lifted me into happiness like no other I had experienced.
When I returned to Australia, two years after, I found myself aligned with all things fashion focused.
Fashion History is that moment in time where we became the heirs....of the past...and what a past it was.
As I stare back in the mirror, paintings and photographs and childhood visions....contain much of the necessary food for my thoughts.....Mirror mirror....for all to see
my life is my subject for it belongs to me.
A sensualist, I live to look and to feel.
Worthy or not, my life is my subject and my subject is my life.
By recollecting all the years past, a strange and yet beautiful image keeps meandering back into my thoughts.
After my father passed away, I decided to go back to England and continue to work and just live my life.
Grief and the sorrowful....walked around with me everyday...for a long time.
I took myself off to Paris for a break and a chance to spend some time with a dear friend who was living and working in Voltaire...there is an extremely old cemetery called "Pere Lachaise"...around the corner from my friends house and where I would spend some time walking and observing.
It was late autumn and dark red thin leaves were falling all around...it felt so quiet and strange somehow to be there....alas it did me good, even though it was a burial yard.
All most six hours passed by and I felt hungry and tired, I continued to walk.. and walk I did.
Many cafe's were open and I just thought to myself...this one will do.Paris has a cafe for every person alive and I seemed to find one that was about as low keyed, as I was feeling.
Ordered myself a tea and looked at myself in my compact mirror....dishevelled and cold..I turned my attentions to the man who had his back to me.
High backed cashmere coat with a funnel type collar...black and buttoned up..he was smoking a little cigarette.
Alone and introspective my focus became him, I stared at his hair and watched the gentle smoke from his cigarette, drift into the cold air.It was about five o'clock.The waiter came out and said thank you to him, he stood up to leave the table after butting out his finished cigarette, he turned his head to the right to view me.....it was Yves Saint Laurent.
Something went off like a bomb...inside me.
Was I seeing things...was it true to life.
He smiled at me and walked off...just like that.
Considering all I had gone through, my father and his death had catapulted me into another dimension.
This sighting of my most treasured of men, had lifted me into happiness like no other I had experienced.
When I returned to Australia, two years after, I found myself aligned with all things fashion focused.
Fashion History is that moment in time where we became the heirs....of the past...and what a past it was.
As I stare back in the mirror, paintings and photographs and childhood visions....contain much of the necessary food for my thoughts.....Mirror mirror....for all to see
Wednesday 23 May 2012
My Man......Ray : Traditional notions of ART into question.
Man Ray first photographed his friends....the poets, painters, and musicians he associated with ..then went onto their friends and partners, until his varied and impressive gallery of photographs made him celebrated.
The brightest names in Paris Society considered it an honor to sit for a portrait by Man Ray.
But it was the female form that inspired his most poetic and unusual images, many techniques he developed were exploited masterfully indeed.
Shortly after Man Ray moved to Paris's bohemian Montparnasse section, he met Alice Prin, better known as "Kiki".
She became his lover and favourite model.
In his painting..."Observatory Time...The Lovers"...which later he re-created as a colour photograph, the painting had been inspired by his daily walk through the Luxembourg Gardens.The lips and the scale of them, no doubt, suggested two closely joined bodies...Freudian perhaps?.....haunted by his dreams he wanted to paint them on a scale of superhuman proportions.
His inspired tinkering and inventiveness....came out of his never ending effervescent imagination.
Man Ray 's traits were so essential to the avant-garde artist, his audacity and continual willingness to call traditional notions of art into question....places him at the front line and stamp him....."The main man of the surrealist spirit".
As a Fashion Photographer...Man Ray wanted to combine art and fashion, he was there when the outstanding Couturier...Lucien Lelong ruled Parisienne society, and photographed a reclining wooden mannequin wearing a Lelong gown.
Man Ray said...'I have tasted freedom...it was hard work, but it was worth it"...my main man......
MAN RAY.
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