Posts Tagged ‘Martin Parr’

Blackpaint 591 – Churches, Poetry, Photography and Zombies

March 21, 2017

My latest painting (below); I’ve gone back to putting the painting first, in case there are some visitors who move on straight away – unlikely, I know…

Moscow Connections

Blackpaint

 

The Borderland, House of Leaves, Ash Wednesday

Wrote about the film “the Borderland” last week; a “found footage” film, in which a sort of Catholic psychic fraud squad  investigates dodgy claims of paranormal events in churches.  The investigators penetrate deep into the bowels of the church and become – absorbed – in their work.  I didn’t connect it last time, but it came to me that it strongly resembled Mark Danielewsky’s “House of Leaves”, although in “Leaves”, it’s not a church that is plumbed, but a house that is like the Tardis only more so; it goes deeper and deeper, darker and darker…  then, I came across this, in Eliot’s “Ash Wednesday”:

At the first turning of the second stair

I turned and saw below

The same shape twisted on the banister

Under the vapour in the fetid air

Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears

The deceitful face of hope and despair.

At the second turning of the second stair

I left them twisting, turning below;

There were no more faces and the stair was dark,

Damp, jagged, like an old man’s mouth drivelling,

Beyond repair,

Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.

The three (film, novel, poem) are not identical or even similar, I know, but they seemed to me to chime somehow.

Britain in Focus: A Photographic History (BBC4)

Brilliant images, especially those of the Sidney Street Siege and the soldiers’ own snapshots of life in the trenches; and Eamonn McCabe is a great photographer – but he’s not the most riveting presenter.  He’s a bit too diffident and self-effacing to hold your attention.  I was about to say that this might be a syndrome of photographers in general; then I thought of Norman Parkinson, Cecil Beaton, David Bailey and I realised how daft that is.

Just watched the last one in the series of three;  surprising images from the early 60’s of John Lennon and Paul McCartney taken by Jane Bown – they look completely different from usual, Lennon with a startled eye that is nothing like his default knowing, skeptical look.  She didn’t even use a light meter.  Then there were Martin Parr’s very funny colour “social” pictures and some fantastic colour pictures of young miners and pit ponies in mist, by John Bulmer.

I know now what it is with McCabe –  it’s his voice.  He’s like that priest in “Father Ted”, the one who nobody can understand because his voice is too boring to follow for more than a word or two.  Also, he nods too much at interviewees.  The programme makes a good case for the use of professional presenters.

Zombies

Since I’ve been writing about a horror film and horror novel, I thought I’d finish with two life drawings that were supposed to be simple action poses, but which turned out to resemble – well, see for yourselves:

Blackpaint

21/3/17

 

 

 

 

Blackpaint 421 – Kienholz Dolls and the British on the Beach

November 14, 2013

Onnasch Collection at Hauser and Wirth

This spreads over both H&W galleries – the one in Piccadilly and the other in Saville Row.  I’ve only seen the Piccadilly one, but will certainly get to the other one.

There is a ridiculously high wooden chair on a sort of curved wooden boom, by Ed Suvaro and a group of wooden assemblages by Ed Kienholz: a pumpkin thing on a miniature bike; a group of bound, captive dolls atop a pedestal – with pedals; half a cello with a fat tube of squashy wire/wool stuff pumping out.

kienholz

Then there is Lance Tuttle, who makes cardboard and paper “plaques” with dangling plastic cups or drink cans; and George Brecht, a member of the Fluxus group, who made assemblages, for example, doll’s house furniture, a screw press, inside glass domes and Joseph Cornell – type boxes, cabinets, shelves of cards and magic tricks…

Finally, there is  a great block of turf-coloured bricks with red tongues of something curling out of them like flames, or some disease.  On closer inspection, it is apparent that these are the tips of gnomes’ hats – they appear to have been rammed through the blocks, as you can see the bases of the figurines on the other side.  it’s called “Dwarves”, I think, and it’s by Dieter Roth.

The Media Space at the Science Museum

There is a wonderful exhibition at the above, of the photographers Tony Ray-Jones and Martin Parr; they’re all black and white, from the 60s through to the 80s.  Fantastic, sad, funny pictures, both men very similar in approach (to my eyes, anyway).  The Britannia Coconut Dancers; serious seaside pleasures, men and women dozing in deckchairs with handkerchiefs under the lenses of their glasses, as if trying to make themselves as daft looking as possible; old men standing forlorn on run-down northern rugby grounds; a cinema queue for “Jaws”, which seems to contain Martin Carthy, Lucille from Coronation Street and Thora Hird; 1977 Silver Jubilee picnic tables, thronged with celebrants – then, in next picture, deserted, under driving rain.  Those old prams with their curly suspension struts; old women praying or dozing in chapel pews; squads of holiday makers excavating a beach, like building workers, below a fortress of a hotel in Newquay; Broadstairs beach with promenade and stairs in concrete (?) tiers, like a Moroccan citadel; echoes of Cartier – Bresson in the fat back of a man on the beach.  Both men have that facility of capturing several “events” in the one photograph.  My favourite, Parr’s, I think, is the sandwich queue at the mayor’s inaugural party in Todmorton – that bloke with the medals looks determined…

tony ray jones1

Impossible not to smile at these photographs, which are great art in my opinion.  Tony Ray -Jones died at 31, of leukaemia; Parr is still producing great pictures, of course, in colour now.

Jacob’s Room

Several times, I caught similarities to the “Wandering Rocks” section of Ulysses in this, the most experimental of Woolf’s novels, surely.  It ends with Bonamy and Jacob’s mother clearing out his room; presumably he dies in WW1.

I notice that Woolf seems to like a little surprise at the end.  I thought that Katharine Hilbery, in Night and Day, was showing signs of mental illness – fugues, detachment, going walkabout – but no-one else on the net seems to think so; one read it as a romantic comedy.

Augustus

John Williams epistolatory novel about the Roman emperor – it’s good; like Stoner, it’s a “whole life” job – but again, like Stoner, it takes Williams for ever to kill his hero off.  Minor fault, perhaps.

The Act of Killing

I’ve only seen the first 25 minutes of this terrifying film, in which old gangsters gleefully re-enact their mass murders of “communists” in the coup of 1965; the repulsive Congo bears a slight, but disconcerting, physical resemblance to Nelson Mandela.

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Solo Flight

Blackpaint

14.11.13