Had a great evening yesterday at The Misanthrope. Although it's on at the Comedy Theatre and billed at such, it's very much witty - sometimes laugh out loud witty - but not comic. In fact if anything it's rather tragic.
Damian Lewis is really excellent in the title role, confirming my opinion from seeing him on TV - it's nice to see Keira Knightley graciously and successfully play second fiddle, with a very convincing American accent. The verse is very successfully translated to English and to a modern context - it takes a few lines to get used to but is never heavy-handed. The play is very pretty to look at, very entertaining and also gives plenty of food for thought about all kinds of lovely philosophical and linguistic issues around relativism, postmodernism and the fine line between tact and hypocrisy.
The ending, where Jenny (Keira) sees her media world in all its hypocritical, savage lack of support and yet still chooses it over Alceste (Damian) has the ring of absolute truth. And it's particularly great that although one's sympathies are generally with Alceste, he is very far from perfect, showing the ugly side of his arguments in mistrust and possessiveness, as well as a positively irritating lack of pragmatism or compromise. Satisfying on all levels.
Sunday, 3 January 2010
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Hoovering the Roof
So this week I can finally hold in my carefully washed hands an actual, published book featuring my work alongside that of the wonderful writers of the East Dulwich Writers' Group. SO EXCITING! I can safely say from personal experience that the anthology
- looks lovely on the shelf
- has a very charming cover as above (and a very superior back cover also with blurb by yours truly)
- really does include something for everyone and is perfect for reading in small bursts while commuting and the like.
I also gave my first public reading at our launch event at The Bookseller Crow on the Hill, which was nerve-wracking but apparently I did succeed in reading s-l-o-w-l-y which is very difficult and very important, especially for a poem.
For further information about the group and sales of this magnificent volume visit the EDWG website .
Thursday, 5 November 2009
This is it
I probably never would have chosen to see 'This is it', but went with my friend to a mother and baby screening. It's a good film to watch around babies - no plot to follow and some of them at least seem to enjoy the music.
Personally, I've always been in two minds about Michael Jackson. On the one hand, I don't believe he ever hurt a child. On the other, I was definitely on the Jarvis Cocker side of the whole Brit Awards debacle. But this film is genuinely special.
There's the poignantly double-edged title (of the planned tour & the film, echoed in the words of one of the dancers at the beginning - 'I was looking for something, to give meaning to my life - this is it').
The mini-interviews with dancers and musicians give a real sense of excitement at performing with their hero - it's wonderful to see them whooping and applauding Michael's rehearsals, and you wonder what has become of them since it all ended so abrubtly.
But most importantly, it is truly a pleasure to see someone who so often seemed out of place in the world working in his natural element. The music and video backdrops are sensational. I still loathe 'earthsong' (cos big music tours are so, er, eco-friendly? but maybe Michael was rich enough to offset it all...), but who can resist the classics - personal favourites are 'beat it', 'billie jean' and 'smooth criminal'. It would have been a great tour - but the film gives even more, as it shows Jackson the professional, a musical perfectionist with confidence in his perfomance and opinions, working behind the scenes to ensure the music 'nourishes', 'sizzles' and is 'drenched in moonlight' - not to mention being in the right key, the right tempo and so on. This is surely the way to remember him.
Personally, I've always been in two minds about Michael Jackson. On the one hand, I don't believe he ever hurt a child. On the other, I was definitely on the Jarvis Cocker side of the whole Brit Awards debacle. But this film is genuinely special.
There's the poignantly double-edged title (of the planned tour & the film, echoed in the words of one of the dancers at the beginning - 'I was looking for something, to give meaning to my life - this is it').
The mini-interviews with dancers and musicians give a real sense of excitement at performing with their hero - it's wonderful to see them whooping and applauding Michael's rehearsals, and you wonder what has become of them since it all ended so abrubtly.
But most importantly, it is truly a pleasure to see someone who so often seemed out of place in the world working in his natural element. The music and video backdrops are sensational. I still loathe 'earthsong' (cos big music tours are so, er, eco-friendly? but maybe Michael was rich enough to offset it all...), but who can resist the classics - personal favourites are 'beat it', 'billie jean' and 'smooth criminal'. It would have been a great tour - but the film gives even more, as it shows Jackson the professional, a musical perfectionist with confidence in his perfomance and opinions, working behind the scenes to ensure the music 'nourishes', 'sizzles' and is 'drenched in moonlight' - not to mention being in the right key, the right tempo and so on. This is surely the way to remember him.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
And finally for today - a note to drivers
I applaud the fact that drivers sometimes stop for me when they don't have to, really I do. Notably when the traffic is so busy that I would never get across otherwise. Or when I am obviously hanging off the edge of the kerb in a tearing hurry.
BUT... when I am stood stock still at a junction, a safe distance from the kerb, and there are few or no cars behind yours, and you are slowing down but you'd have to anyway for the junction, and you might be saying something or waving your arms at me but you're behind a window that is catching the rain or the sun or whatever, and your intentions are therefore very very hard to read... I would really rather you just carried on driving and let me cross the road in peace once you have gone by. Sorry.
BUT... when I am stood stock still at a junction, a safe distance from the kerb, and there are few or no cars behind yours, and you are slowing down but you'd have to anyway for the junction, and you might be saying something or waving your arms at me but you're behind a window that is catching the rain or the sun or whatever, and your intentions are therefore very very hard to read... I would really rather you just carried on driving and let me cross the road in peace once you have gone by. Sorry.
This is probably all wrong but...
...after seeing the Anish Kapoor exhibition, I hastened next door to Laduree for some macaroons. Their shop is sculptural - the entire (tiny) place is coated in thickly spread golden splodges and squirls. Which got me thinking about the macaroons themselves.
These are not just food (or even M&S food - a category unto itself). Yes, they have some calories and they taste delicious, but they are clearly not designed for survival or nutrition. Nourishment, perhaps, taken in the widest sense and considering their sculptural qualities.
There are the colours, and the way those fade to paler or darker fillings. There are the colours that are appropriate to the flavour (rich golden mango, sadly a summer edition now passed), the colours that are at least traditional to the flavour (green pistachio), and the colours that are just a little post-modern - date and fig macaroons are an appealing purply pink which is only tangentially related to their content.
Then there is the texture. Just to look at, the tactile qualities of biting one of these are apparent. They have crispy, transparent, fragile edges. The centres are just visible, soft and shiny and waiting to be discovered.
OK, it's no good, I have to go and have tea and a macaroon...
These are not just food (or even M&S food - a category unto itself). Yes, they have some calories and they taste delicious, but they are clearly not designed for survival or nutrition. Nourishment, perhaps, taken in the widest sense and considering their sculptural qualities.
There are the colours, and the way those fade to paler or darker fillings. There are the colours that are appropriate to the flavour (rich golden mango, sadly a summer edition now passed), the colours that are at least traditional to the flavour (green pistachio), and the colours that are just a little post-modern - date and fig macaroons are an appealing purply pink which is only tangentially related to their content.
Then there is the texture. Just to look at, the tactile qualities of biting one of these are apparent. They have crispy, transparent, fragile edges. The centres are just visible, soft and shiny and waiting to be discovered.
OK, it's no good, I have to go and have tea and a macaroon...
Anish Kapoor
Having seen only two Anish Kapoor sculptures before (that I can remember), but liked both a lot, I went to the Royal Academy exhibition. There is something very mentally spacious about going to an exhibition where there are really only seven or eight exhibits, albeit some of them groups of pieces.
Working from my least favourite upwards, and with almost no reference to the proper names of the pieces nor to any proper artistic analysis:
1. Extruded concrete - no, I am just not feeling it. Too scatological. Lacking the visual and tactile pleasures of the other work somehow. Though there are a few small pieces that have fallen off, which you might be tempted to pick up if the guards aren't watching. No-one will believe you if you try to sell them on ebay though, they just don't look impressive.
2. Fibreglass 'marble' coils with shiny red trumpet / vulva - mildly intriguing, but not very.
3. Hall of mirrors. Ok they don't call it that, but that's what it is - very shiny and nicely done. Not nearly as much fun as the stack of mirrored balls in the courtyard which have sky and buildings to play with.
4. Crimson wax - monumental block which moves along a track. carving itself out against the arches of three galleries, + the cannon which shoots cyclinders of the same wax through a doorway every 20 minutes. It is great to have something in a gallery that moves and that you can return to and see in a different way each time. And these are undeniably powerful pieces. After seeing the cannon shoot, people make pointless comments like 'Well, there you go' and 'We've seen the splodging machine now we can move on'. It is obvious that this is because at least some of them are deeply unsettled.
The wax isn't actually like anything in the body as such, but is undeniably visceral when splattered or spread. Whether by accident or design, the person 'firing' the cannon when I was there was profoundly androgynous, dressed in overalls with a poker face, very pale and thin. This added somehow to the sense of violence. Even so, I found the moving block (about the size of a double decker bus - ish) harder to take. There is something about the way it completely moulds onto the arches as it moves through them which makes it harder to breathe, and makes me want to consume things that are good for my arteries. It has all the uneasiness of seeing inside someone, or of deep sea creatures, writ large.
5. The hive - rusting (or rust-coloured, though smooth) monumental shape, open at one end to allow a glimpse of the enclosed space at the other. Everything about this was pleasing to me - scale, tactile appearance, the lines that follow its curves where it has been made (whereas many of Kapoor's sculptures have had the signs of making deliberately removed), the fact that it was made in a shipyard, the fact that it is suggestive without being red! It is everything that number 2 was not.
6. Yellow - a giant, sunny, optical illusion. I have a deep desire to climb inside it.
7. The room of pregnancy and powder paint - the paint is pleasing, the way it gives a saturated, soft colour. The pregnant wall, however, is by far the best thing in the whole show (bit of a shame this is actually the first room). You barely notice it at first, in a room full of colourful things. You look at it from the side, and it's a clearly delineated bulge, full of promise. You look from the front, about a meter away, and you just can't see anything properly at all. It is utterly mysterious. Somehow, the curve and the shadow mean that you can't focus on the texture of the white wall itself, you just get a kind of blurry glow. I could look at it all day, except it makes my eyes go funny.
Working from my least favourite upwards, and with almost no reference to the proper names of the pieces nor to any proper artistic analysis:
1. Extruded concrete - no, I am just not feeling it. Too scatological. Lacking the visual and tactile pleasures of the other work somehow. Though there are a few small pieces that have fallen off, which you might be tempted to pick up if the guards aren't watching. No-one will believe you if you try to sell them on ebay though, they just don't look impressive.
2. Fibreglass 'marble' coils with shiny red trumpet / vulva - mildly intriguing, but not very.
3. Hall of mirrors. Ok they don't call it that, but that's what it is - very shiny and nicely done. Not nearly as much fun as the stack of mirrored balls in the courtyard which have sky and buildings to play with.
4. Crimson wax - monumental block which moves along a track. carving itself out against the arches of three galleries, + the cannon which shoots cyclinders of the same wax through a doorway every 20 minutes. It is great to have something in a gallery that moves and that you can return to and see in a different way each time. And these are undeniably powerful pieces. After seeing the cannon shoot, people make pointless comments like 'Well, there you go' and 'We've seen the splodging machine now we can move on'. It is obvious that this is because at least some of them are deeply unsettled.
The wax isn't actually like anything in the body as such, but is undeniably visceral when splattered or spread. Whether by accident or design, the person 'firing' the cannon when I was there was profoundly androgynous, dressed in overalls with a poker face, very pale and thin. This added somehow to the sense of violence. Even so, I found the moving block (about the size of a double decker bus - ish) harder to take. There is something about the way it completely moulds onto the arches as it moves through them which makes it harder to breathe, and makes me want to consume things that are good for my arteries. It has all the uneasiness of seeing inside someone, or of deep sea creatures, writ large.
5. The hive - rusting (or rust-coloured, though smooth) monumental shape, open at one end to allow a glimpse of the enclosed space at the other. Everything about this was pleasing to me - scale, tactile appearance, the lines that follow its curves where it has been made (whereas many of Kapoor's sculptures have had the signs of making deliberately removed), the fact that it was made in a shipyard, the fact that it is suggestive without being red! It is everything that number 2 was not.
6. Yellow - a giant, sunny, optical illusion. I have a deep desire to climb inside it.
7. The room of pregnancy and powder paint - the paint is pleasing, the way it gives a saturated, soft colour. The pregnant wall, however, is by far the best thing in the whole show (bit of a shame this is actually the first room). You barely notice it at first, in a room full of colourful things. You look at it from the side, and it's a clearly delineated bulge, full of promise. You look from the front, about a meter away, and you just can't see anything properly at all. It is utterly mysterious. Somehow, the curve and the shadow mean that you can't focus on the texture of the white wall itself, you just get a kind of blurry glow. I could look at it all day, except it makes my eyes go funny.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Lagerfeld confidential
Finally got round to watching 'Lagerfeld Confidential', a very interesting comparison to 'The September Issue' the other week. While the latter is an entertaining advertisement for Vogue, which reveals that Anna Wintour is a stellar business woman but not (whisper it) very interesting, Lagerfeld Confidential is remarkably light on Chanel, and big on Karl and his personal myth.
Having seen various rather sensationalised Karl quotes, i was ready to find said myth deeply irritating, but in fact warmed to the man who 'detests' people who can't be alone; values his photography, music and reading as much as the clothes; keeps his private life private even when sharing himself on film; hates to be dependent; and can contemplate his own death with the comfort of philosophy but not of religion. Not so fond of his penchant for off-colour jokes, but at least it makes him human. Love seeing him at work at his photography and illustration - the man is essentially an artist. And totally envious of his huge library.
Plaudits also to whoever chose the Lightning Seeds' 'Pure' as the opening song - reminded me yet again that it is possibly the most perfect pop song ever recorded - catchy, bouncy and ephemeral, with lyrics of love and rainbows but heartbreak in a minor key at its core.
Having seen various rather sensationalised Karl quotes, i was ready to find said myth deeply irritating, but in fact warmed to the man who 'detests' people who can't be alone; values his photography, music and reading as much as the clothes; keeps his private life private even when sharing himself on film; hates to be dependent; and can contemplate his own death with the comfort of philosophy but not of religion. Not so fond of his penchant for off-colour jokes, but at least it makes him human. Love seeing him at work at his photography and illustration - the man is essentially an artist. And totally envious of his huge library.
Plaudits also to whoever chose the Lightning Seeds' 'Pure' as the opening song - reminded me yet again that it is possibly the most perfect pop song ever recorded - catchy, bouncy and ephemeral, with lyrics of love and rainbows but heartbreak in a minor key at its core.
Saturday, 26 September 2009
Pepper & jasmine
I wish I was one of those people who find a signature scent. There's something very classy about it, and with smell being such a powerful memory trigger I do love the fact that I can always associate some of my friends with a particular perfume. But the fact is that I am a perfume whore - at the present count I appear to have 2 pillow sprays, 1 eau de cologne, 3 body sprays, 2 body splashes, 5 scented oils and 11 perfumes - not to mention untold scented unguents (or 'smellies' as my unimpressed family would call them) and a tendency to borrow my husband's aftershave...
I can at least pride myself on a certain consistency of unusual taste. In the collection above, there are only a handful (courtesy of Chanel, Calvin Klein, Clarins and the Body Shop) that most people would recognise, and they'd be the first to go if I had a cull.
My favourites in type are probably the scented oils, which last better, especially the body shop's old 'woody sandalwood' (bought in Italy after they stopped selling it here) and the Egyptian lotus oil. Hakansson's curious lotion-perfume 'The Scent', though too leaky to take on holiday any more, will always remind me of my wedding and honeymoon with a cheerful, light formula of bergamot and flowers. The kings of odd perfume are of course Comme des Garcons, and I am proud to have converted at least one of my friends to their lovely and subtle rhubarb confection, though not surprised to have few supporters for the industrial no.73. I have winter scents by Lalique, Anna Sui, Kiehl's and Korres, with a preponderance of exotic woods, fig, pepper and jasmine. In summer the winner is alway's Fresh's 'Hesperides', by far the nicest citrus scent I have come across, or one of the floral oils. Maybe I won't provoke strong memory triggers in other people, but at least I have a smell to associate with every place and season.
I can at least pride myself on a certain consistency of unusual taste. In the collection above, there are only a handful (courtesy of Chanel, Calvin Klein, Clarins and the Body Shop) that most people would recognise, and they'd be the first to go if I had a cull.
My favourites in type are probably the scented oils, which last better, especially the body shop's old 'woody sandalwood' (bought in Italy after they stopped selling it here) and the Egyptian lotus oil. Hakansson's curious lotion-perfume 'The Scent', though too leaky to take on holiday any more, will always remind me of my wedding and honeymoon with a cheerful, light formula of bergamot and flowers. The kings of odd perfume are of course Comme des Garcons, and I am proud to have converted at least one of my friends to their lovely and subtle rhubarb confection, though not surprised to have few supporters for the industrial no.73. I have winter scents by Lalique, Anna Sui, Kiehl's and Korres, with a preponderance of exotic woods, fig, pepper and jasmine. In summer the winner is alway's Fresh's 'Hesperides', by far the nicest citrus scent I have come across, or one of the floral oils. Maybe I won't provoke strong memory triggers in other people, but at least I have a smell to associate with every place and season.
Friday, 25 September 2009
Hello again!
How nice to see you - it's been too long. How was summer for you? I know I had a summer lull at work. I know this by the fact that it is now over. But I can't say I noticed it at the time. They did invite me to another, less surreal dinner the other day though. Hoss Intropia may have the oddest name of any shop but they sure can shape a wonderful little, black, velvet, backless, waist-whittling, leg-lengthening dress. Sadly, these things can have a sting in the tail - literally, as they appear to have sewn a small drawing pin into the hem. Gonna have to work on that one...
I was very amused the other day when I had a meeting with someone in the margins of a training course, where they had been learning about cats and dogs.
The dog says:
'You feed me, you give me somewhere to sleep and lots of love and attention - you must be a god!'
The cat says:
'You feed me, you give me somewhere to sleep and lots of love and attention - I must be a god.'
For a seminar on personal impact, the message is an interesting one. I think the point was to do with how you adapt your style to 'cat' or 'dog' people, but what happens when two cats meet? Just as in nature, it could go either way...
I was very amused the other day when I had a meeting with someone in the margins of a training course, where they had been learning about cats and dogs.
The dog says:
'You feed me, you give me somewhere to sleep and lots of love and attention - you must be a god!'
The cat says:
'You feed me, you give me somewhere to sleep and lots of love and attention - I must be a god.'
For a seminar on personal impact, the message is an interesting one. I think the point was to do with how you adapt your style to 'cat' or 'dog' people, but what happens when two cats meet? Just as in nature, it could go either way...
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