Sunday Breakfast by Love For Breakfast
Breakfast in Monterosso. A ray of light, the fragrance of the sea and the springtime around the corner.
The perfect breakfast is a freshly baked apple pie from the bakery on the beach, forest fruits covering plain yogurt and honey on a base of wholegrain cereals. A cup of coffee and we are ready to face the sea.
It’s Nice That No. 8
The latest print issue of It’s Nice That has hit the streets and in typical fashion has outdone itself: their newest is probably the best issue yet of what has become a bit of a generation’s defining affair – who among us doesn’t spend a few minutes a day on their brilliant blog? And that makes a new print issue – touchable! – all the more gratifying. We got a good look at lucky number 8 at its overflowing launch last night at KK Outlet in London’s Hoxton Square.
2DM’s Tung Walsh’s work was to be found not once, not twice, but thrice in the issue: he made portraits of both the legendary minimalist architect John Pawson and esteemed author and director of London’s Design Museum, Deyan Sudjic, as well as a lovely series called “Secret Exoticism” on The Barbican’s creepy/captivating conservatory, a menagerie of concrete and lush tropical plants tucked inside the sprawling brutalist complex almost unbeknownst to most Londoners.
Elsewhere in the issue you’ll find an interview with Paula Scher, a profile of Dutch architectural firm MVRDV, an interesting look at London’s smells, a profile of zany food masters Bompas and Parr, monumental photos by Cyril Porchet of church ceilings complete with fold-out poster (stick it on your ceiling for a monochrome Sistine Chapel effect), as well as many others. The cover – a compelling close up of a flower bud – was done by the brilliant Erwin Frotin. And as an added bonus, included is a lovely little booklet of “Metaphorical Measurements for a British Olympics” that puts the upcoming games into terms like “Stilton,” “Imperial Horsepower,” “Nottingham Pippin” and “irony” that any good Brit can understand: The women’s 100 metres hurdles is run over the length of four cricket pitches and completed in the time between the first and fourth chimes of Big Ben heralding the 6 o’clock news on BBC Radio 4. And suddenly it’s all clear.
Isn’t it nice that? Great work, guys!
Walking With Fire
It was Jack Fisk who once said, “Luckily, David Lynch is able to vent everything through his art… because otherwise somebody might be dead.” This thought weighed heavily on my mind as I waited my turn to shake hands with the man behind existential nightmares like Blue Velvet and Lost Highway. After all, David Lynch hasn’t made a full-length movie since 2006’s Inland Empire, and he seems to be spending a lot of time sponsoring nightclubs and jamming with Moby these days. I couldn’t help but wonder: has David Lynch been venting enough?
Anyone brave enough to sit through Crazy Clown Time, Lynch’s recent excursion into pop music territory, has every right to be worried. This is, after all, the man who made a hit soap opera about incest. Then again, Lynch rarely leaves home, preferring instead to stay in and paint, make nonsensical cartoons, and follow his mind to the depths of hell and back. This is his first solo New York exhibition since 1989. It’s hard to catch him, but I’ve done enough homework over the years to know that the flesh-and-blood Lynch is far removed from the horror he projects onto film. A proud Eagle Scout, he’s been wearing his own vanilla uniform since the late 70s: black shoes, khaki trousers and a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck, with a mop of brilliant white hair that looks like it got a little to close to the electrical outlet. His neighborly demeanor couldn’t be more at odds with the inner workings of his mind. This is a good thing. He is very polite. He smiles at people and shakes their hands and nods politely when they ask silly questions. At the same time, no one on this side knows the real David Lynch. Mel Brooks famously described him as “Jimmy Stewart from Mars”, and that’s about as close as we’re going to get.
David Lynch is in good shape, but his characters never are. They haunt his black canvases without form, only problems. Lots of problems. They’re “fucking broke,” as one goes, or dismembered, and usually on fire, their faces hanging out of the canvas like a grapefruit tumor swaying on a cow’s udder. Everything rots, no one is safe. One, “Fisherman’s Dream w/ Steam Iron”, features a fisherman’s hand bursting through a beached salmon, one of his fingers growing towards a mermaid lounging at the water’s edge. Somehow, the fisherman’s hand seems happy.
The paintings sit on the wall like boxes, wonderfully framed in thick gold frames and heavy glass. What’s inside makes Rene Magritte look like a journalist. David Foster Wallace gave the best definition of the man’s cinematic style―a style so singular it’s simply called “Lynchian”―when he said the term refers to “a particular kind of irony where the very macabre and the very mundane combine in such a way as to reveal the former’s perpetual containment within the latter.” Lynch is innately fixated with childhood dreams gone awry up against a paranoid, corrupt adult-dominated world (Blue Velvet, for starters). One painting, “No Santa Clause,” features a boy without a face watching Santa and his gang fly out of sight. It could be taken as a metaphor for how the acquisition knowledge ultimately crushes fantasy, or it could be about an evil Santa who eats the flesh off of little boys’ faces. It all depends on whether or not David Lynch believes in Santa.
David Foster Wallace also unfairly/hilariously described Lynch’s paintings as looking like “stuff you could imagine Francis Bacon doing in junior high.” The “Distorted Nudes” here are an obvious ode to Bacon’s triptychs of deformed freaks, but they’re more tip-of-the-hat than pale imitation, and even these have the unmistakable imprint of the man who built them. They are, to use the term, Lynchian.
Seeing someone in pictures is very different from seeing them in person, and it’s particularly weird when the two seamlessly match up. They do here. David Lynch looks like David Lynch, alright. “Please remember you are dealing with the human form,” we were warned back in 1968’s “The Alphabet.” I tried my best to keep that in mind when my turn to shake his hand finally came.
David Lynch at Jack Tilton Gallery, March 6th–April 14th, 2012
ZegnArt – Lucy + Jorge Orta: Fabulae Romanae
At the intersection of creativity, art once again meets fashion. After the fantastic and fruitful adventures of a number of its countrymen in the fashion system, Zegna has joined the field of contemporary visual art. The first initiative by ZegnArt – a space where interdisciplinary art, fashion, design, architecture and poetry coexist and inform one another – is an exhibition of the international artists Lucy (b. Sutton Coldfield, UK in 1966) & Jorge Orta (b. Rosario, Argentina in 1953) entitled Fabulae Romanae.
The show, curated by Maria Luisa Frisa, and conceived by Ermenegildo Zegna in collaboration with MAXXI, the artists, the company and the support of the Centre for Sustainable Fashion, is devoted to Italy’s fabulous capital city and has emerged from a common code of ethics and principles of sustainability which bind together the people involved.
ZegnArt is a project made up of three main areas: Public, a programme of commissions and residencies for contemporary artists, Special Projects, a container for remarkable artistic events, and Art in Global Store, a project to commission site specific artworks, conceived to be hosted inside Ermenegildo Zegna’s Global Stores, with the aim of driving people towards the languages of art.
In Rome Lucy + Jorge Orta are presenting their works, which are connected to a number of pressing ecological and social issues of our time. Through drawing, sculpture, installation, video and performance, the couple’s aim is to provoke reaction and reflection on important topics of the contemporary world. Central to the exhibition is the installation of tents (or domes), which represent a fundamental way human beings produce spatial definition and condition and their fragility and precariousness –‘a nomadic form of shelter’ which are here made with signature Zegna textiles. Also prominent is a video performance called Spirits, marked by ethereal characters who interact with the city accompanied by a piece of poetry by Mario Petrucci.
Fabulae Romanae will run until the 23rd of September this year within the larger project Tridimensionale (Three-dimensional), the latest arrangement of the MAXXI Arte collection. We’ll be looking forward to see what comes next from their well-tailored sleeve.
The Editorial: Pirate Space Race!
Just this month Russians voted (however dubiously) to put Putin back in their presidency. And like we saw last week, the USA is still keen on flexing its bully muscles to show the world who’s boss. Leaving aside economically-hobbled Europe and still-teething China for a moment, the world looks poised for yet another generation of long distance provocations between two bratty superpowers. The two remain stubbornly at odds despite Russian socialism’s ostensible demise. And despite its streets now crawling with the shiniest Italian fashion and German luxury rides, Moscow’s brutal crushing of both political and civil rights protests proves the place is pretty much as Soviet as ever. And as the clashes unfold in Russia, America–always nicely stocked with right-wing crazies with no shortage of terrifyingly ill-minded policy rhetoric to spew–continues to beat its hugely hypocritical chest about freedom and liberty and all of the blah blah that any casual observer of its recent wars in the Middle East know is mostly propagandistic tripe. The whole thing feels more than just a tad Cold War.
But wait! Remember the Space Race? It was far and away the coolest conflict-driven competition in the history of mankind! It was a crucible for endless, fantastical dreams for human possibility and a source of immense pride. Sputnik versus Explorer, Luna versus Apollo. Oh, the good old future!
Sadly, the next wave of antagonism between the world’s superpowers is not likely to include plans for cosmic settlements or Mars probes, but rather skirmishes over oil pipelines, food supplies and trade agreements, all driven by fractured ideologies. America, as it tends to do when short-sighted conservatives call the shots, has divested its grand space program to the “private sector” and Russia’s has withered in neglect as resources have gone into consolidating military power. In any case, it looks like dull old terrestrial life for us little earthlings.
But there still may be life in the space race, in some form or another: in a remarkable recent twist, infamous torrent website The Pirate Bay has declared that it plans to send its servers into orbit in the near future to avoid the sorts of legal battles that had temporarily closed the site down. So while America and Russia may not go at in the cosmos anymore, it seems that the next frontier of the brewing IP and copyright war might indeed be in space. If their plan seems a bit far fetched, consider that they’ve long thrived as renegades, dodging bullets from irate media conglomerates, artists and, of course, vengeful governments.
So, just as last week, as both a consumer and producer of content, we remain on the fence about the polar core issues of “stealing” and “openness,” but are valiantly watching the battles. The ethics of torrents could surely use a good old shakedown from an ethicist, but the argument seems to be bigger than the list of grievances against them from the likes of DreamWorks, Apple, Warner Brothers, the Linotype type foundry and various Swedish institutions. Clearly, the pirates are stepping on some powerful toes and will eventually have to result to drastic measures to save themselves from the wrath of their enemies. (Wired UK even reports that they tried to buy their own micro nation in the North Sea.) We can’t imagine any Western government would be keen to see a satellite devised to undermine a chunk of its commercial underpinnings make it off the ground.
Still, the overall picture is about more than just ripped off music and software. Unlike stilted speeches from policymakers about net neutrality, this kind of radical maneuvering really indicates a huge will to maintain an unpoliced realm within the web. The ideas of free space, equal access and uninhibited sharing embodied in the contemporary Occupy and predecessor Share The Streets movements (and many before them) is captured well in the spirit of The Pirate Bay’s defiant ethic, and the time seems right for such a radical move.
And while we remain doubtful that the project can really take off–pricey satellites for free content? really?–it’s a lot of fun to imagine how this epic saga might unfold. Will the pirates manage to pull off an orbiting content coup? Will they be ruthlessly shut down? One thing is clear: it’s much more exciting to imagine the former. So, in the spirit of rebellion and the joys of conflict-driven imagination, let’s imagine a benevolent pirate flag hurdling far above the skies sometime soon.
Kristina Gill: Cupcakes
If you follow me on Twitter you already know that I think cupcakes are so 20th century. Apparently Europe didn’t get the memo that they went out of style when Sex and the City stopped running, and now cupcakes are making adults squeal over here. For me, a cupcake is for children under five. A cake is so much easier to make, and much more elegant. Just smooth the batter in one tin and slide it into the oven.
Nonetheless, I thought I’d use my favorite coconut cake recipe to make cupcakes in anticipation of my birthday coming up this week. (Clearly not my fifth birthday.) Even though I don’t think they’ll actually last until Wednesday.
White Zinfandel
When speaking about White Zinfandel, the last thing that would come to your mind is that the name was the first random thing its founders came up with. Fortunately, the casually chosen name was a too special foreplay to be wasted on a sloppy project.
White Zinfandel is a New York based magazine founded by Jiminie Ho (the mind behind W/– project space) and Dominic and Chris Leong (of Leong Leong Architecture), after a series of fortunate coincidences, of which the first one was obviously the name itself. This self-styled magazine explores the visual manifestation of food and culture produced within the lives of creative individuals through a variety of media and means of expression. Each number is based on a culturally or historically relevant menu interpreted by various creatives.
To underline the boldness of their intentions, the editors dedicated the first number of White Zinf to Food, the SOHO restaurant from the 70s founded by Gordon Matta-Clark, Caroline Goodden and Tina Girouard.
The second number, issued past december, was called “TV Dinners”, paying a hommage to the simplest and most common American dining habit. As combining high and low profile content is one of White Zinf‘s stronger sides, the apparently simple subject evolves in a surprising product. Therefore some of the articles are “Searching for Rirkrit” by Pete Deevakul that feature the artist Rirkrit Tiravanija‘s portraits made out of food or abstract compositions made with steaks by Ruby Sky Stiler. Besides the witty articles and enviable artists’ collaborations, each issue of White Zinfandel is comprises an equally important dinner party, that celebrates the menu the magazine itself was based on.
After Gordon Matta-Clark’s “Food” and “TV-Dinners”, two themes that couldn’t be more different, we can’t but eagerly expect what will the threesome produce in their next issue. Just another reason why we can’t wait for summer to come!
The Power of Habit
The Power of Habit, a fascinating new book by New York Times investigative journalist Charles Duhigg, takes a look at the nature of habits and their role in our daily lives. Habits are essentially our brains on auto-pilot, hard-wired neurological routes that grow deep and wide from repetition. There are good habits, like saving money and looking both ways before you cross the street, and bad ones, like procrastinating and binge-eating. Often our bad habits feel out of our hands, maybe even genetic, and so we accept them begrudgingly, like we put up with a nagging relative at a family reunion.
It turns out we don’t have to. Duhigg argues that habits “aren’t destiny―they can be ignored, changed, or replaced.” Sounds good, but how?
It’s simple: figure out the habit loop.
A habit has three major components: a cue, a routine, and a reward. These components form the habit loop. The cue is the trigger that tells your brain to prepare for auto-pilot. The routine can be physical, mental, or emotional; the reward is something that tells your brain whether or not the loop is worth remembering. Chocolate rewards tend to form habits; metal forks in light sockets don’t. If they do, you should make a habit of going to the psychiatrist.
There is a calculus, Duhigg claims, for mastering our subconscious urges, and the answer lies in finding the cues and rewards that influence our routines. I can’t get into too much detail here, but I strongly recommend you read his book―at least take a look at his recent NY Times excerpt called “How Companies Learn Your Secrets.”
That we can control and reshape our habits is not a new idea, but it remains a pertinent one, and Duhigg’s book offers a practical insight into how to deconstruct and wipe out some of our worst impulses, not least of all by putting on the responsibility on the individual: “Once you understand that habits can change, you have the freedom―and the responsibility―to remake them,” he says. “Once you understand that habits can be rebuilt, the power becomes easier to grasp, and the only option left is to get to work.”
Lane KoivuSunday Breakfast by Love For Breakfast
Happy Sunday! From here on out, the week’s most relaxing day will bring a tasty treat to The Blogazine from Alessia Bossi. She’s a bona-fide breakfast buff who runs the popular Love For Breakfast blog, packs Lomo-credentials and knows more than a thing or two about luxury. So pull up a chair, bring your appetite and join us every week for Sunday Breakfast!
A traditional French breakfast. The sweet smell of a hot pan au chocolat. A freshly baked crusty baguette. The intense flavor of a strawberry tea is the antagonist of a spicy cinnamon cappuccino.
Frank Selby: Some Things Never Change
This weekend, American artist Frank Selby (not to be confused photographer The Selby, Todd Selby) is opening his second exhibition at Paris’ Jeanrochdard gallery, ”Some Things Never Change”.
The works to be shown are in his usually meticulous style and are drawn from recent press photography. All reframe photographs from conflicts over the past two years as drawings to systematically demonstrate the distance between the photo – taken commonly as objective truth – and the actual event. Selby, through this work “raises the idea that our interpretation of these photographs – which are the cornerstone of our understanding of these historical facts – is changing and becomes more distorted over time.”
The exhibition harkens back to the fierce debates surrounding the effect of wartime photography during the Vietnam War and, more recently, Desert Storm. We remember through photos, and especially in press photography, there is a common assumption that the photographic image is a slice of objective truth. Public opinion surrounding conflicts are inevitably driven by these images, but Selby brilliantly draws our attention to the fact that even these ostensibly objective records can have an agenda: they’re telling one version of a story. Add to this a heavy peppering of symbolism throughout–hints of communism and the anonymity of the policeman’s helmet, for example–and the artist gives a beautifully illustrated sense of the photo’s potential inobjectivity as a record.
If you happen to find yourself in Paris over the weekend (or anytime before April 20th), the show really is a must-see. Opening tomorrow, March 17, from 5-9pm and running until the 20th of April at Jeanrochdard at 13 Rue des Arquebusiers.
