Monday, 27 July 2015

The Bay


BLUE // DEREK JARMAN

Blue of my heart
Blue of my dreams
Slow blue love
Of delphinium days
Blue is the universal love in which man bathes - it is the terrestrial paradise.
I'm walking along the beach in a howling gale -
Another year is passing
In the roaring waters
I hear the voices of dead friends
Love is life that lasts forever.
My hearts memory turns to you.

Impatient youths of the sun
Burning with many colours
Flick combs through hair
In bathroom mirrors
Fucking with fusion and fashion
Dance in the beams of emerald lasers
Mating on suburban duvets

Summer sun and it's finally hot and I'm free from school. I've had strange saturated decadent dreams from reading Huysmans' Against Nature and swimming in the sea in Cornwall every day.
Freckles and tarot cards and sunburn and salty hair and grass stains and smoke and night swimming and Mac Demarco and dancing in the dark. Beach Rats. We went skinny dipping and told bad ghost stories at night, found a house party with a snake, explored beaches and lay on rocks till our skin was pink.

I have many sketchbook pages to upload from long beach days, train journeys and boat trips. I started an oil painting which I'm not sure about but it's all practice, and I listen to Metronomy and The Growlers' sweet tones to bask in the sun's rays. I watched Derek Jarman's hour-long art film Blue which was vv important. I'm also reading Gombrich's Story of Art which is super thick but  a really good read to find a bearing on the history of art before next year.

I just got back from Secret Garden Party festival too which was so so soaking wet but so good and I can't bear to look at my feet for all the mud so all I am going to do now is sleep and listen to Jungle and Temples who played the festival.

I don't know what's next this summer but it's all going by in such a blur I can float along. That's all for now, here is some work:






















   


          have a good summer kids xoxo


Sunday, 31 May 2015

Faint Glimmers of Civilisation



















I just got back from holiday in Vienna and Budapest where the art and architecture was so impressive. The best part was that the Leopold Gallery in Vienna is currently showing selected Tracey Emin work, curated alongside Egon Schiele: a pair who seamlessly connect and compliment each other in the exhibition. 

Furthermore, the Fine Art Museum in Vienna holds a host of Rubens, Rembrandts, Caravaggios, Tintorettos, Titians and one striking Vermeer- so many Old Masters that it felt like walking around inside a life-size history of art textbook. It was quite moving and unexpected to come up close to Rubens' Venus with a Fur Wrap (whose knees are featured on the left below), as I had read so much about it and stared at a postcard of it on my wall previously. The stillness of the paintings altogether in those tall, near-empty rooms exuded greatness and a sort of strange, comforting familiarity at the same time, and I wish I had had longer in the gallery to fully appreciate it.

I also visited Annely Juda's London Hockney exhibition with Cherry, a dear appreciator of his work and top art pal. Although we were pushed for time as the gallery was about to close, it was nevertheless lovely to see the paintings and 3-d photos that I had read about so much. Hockney never fails to inspire and intimidate me for his sheer volume of work, as a joyful artist who has experimented so widely in so many mediums. And still never fails to be dull or predictably repetitive. These established, exciting paintings were displayed in the same space as Hockney's charcoal drawings of the countryside, one year ago. It was comforting to see the work of last year that mourned for colour and vibrancy in a shadowy, traditional aesthetic replaced by the artist's re-found excitement, returning to his California palette.

Another super cool thing when I visited Budapest was the hotel we were staying in- faux-grandeur from a forgotten time mixed with grim modern-day tourist-appeal. It felt very much like we were staying at The Grand Budapest Hotel of Wes Anderson. The cracked but ornate bath spa in the basement bore striking similarity to Anderson's world of M. Gustav and Zero, not to mention the decor of the large dining room to contrast the fake pot plants and ruined, crumbling streets surrounding the building itself. I spent my time in the hotel being lazy.

NICE KNEES IN FINE ART



ANNELY JUDA HOCKNEY EXHIBITION WITH CHERRY

COMPARISON: WES ANDERSON'S GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL  //
 HOTEL I STAYED AT IN BUDAPEST


/Thought it was funny/
 


" You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble, insignificant... oh, fuck it. "                                                                                                              -Gustav H (GBH)

Goodbye and Good luck with exams and all xx