Effing glorious

Filling Little Thoughts With Little Ears

Joe Sorren is disgustingly good. I’ve not seen much work of his that hasn’t caused me to salivate.

I already own two cloth-bound hardbacks of his work: the collection In Celebration of Balance and Opposable Thumbs, and one documenting his exhibition When She Was Camera.

The latter book provided me with my first Sorren print, which accompanied it, noted as a ‘finger painting’ -  its texture is a bit like one, but the figure of the portrait also has a small finger coming out the top of its head.

I’m distracted…

Today I bought the above. It’s as the title to this post says. Discovered at the treasure trove that is Popup, it is one of 45 signed prints worldwide. As soon as I opened the display draw half an inch I knew who the work was by, and the more that came into view the more excited I became.

The arhythmic heart patterns that followed had me so concerned I had to buy it to resolve a dangerous health issue.

It’s a reasonably large print, and is brilliant above the bed, in pride of place. The theme, as the title suggests, is rather circular. Probably hard to pick out at this scale, the amorphous figures, adorning and even cocooning out of the tree, are both conveying words from the main figure and whispering back to him in a loop. There are other parallels and resonances in the detail.

There is too much that I like about Sorren, but one of the key points, brought out in a work like this, is the way he plays with layers and texture.

His website / blog has a great demonstration of a painting in progress.

Is Christmas now?

NIN gear is probably unlikely.

What is much more likely, to the point of probably having already been put on order by significant persons in my life, are these two books:

I actually need Wallace Stevens right now. I don’t know why. It’s like the craving for a particular type of beer, a particular satisfying goodness… a really smooth treat.

Mark up

One moment, it amazes me just how easy a good grade is to achieve these days.*

The next moment, I remind myself that I actually do sweat my guts (and my brain) out for it.

And then I wonder, if I really had a decent brain, would I need to sweat at all?

In any case, I’ll take the A-plus that marks the end of English literature… and I’ll temporarily forget about the remainder of film…

*Qualification: at Victoria University of Wellington, for a BA in English Literature and Film. (Though I suspect as much for all BAs, if not any other degree, in most NZ universities. A reason, by way of a rough equation, being: Easier degrees = more bums on seats = more dollars in hand.)

Gifted

Not sure about what to buy me for Christmas?

It just so happens that NIN are flogging off old tour gear on eBay.

I’d prefer an instrument, or else an effects pedal or amp… but anything will do really.

Evolved

Despite a few crackpots, cranks, and agenda hijackers, last night’s final lecture – a panel discussion – in the series to accompany Collapsing Creation was brilliant.*

They had a man to represent Science, one to represent Religion, and between them – on stage – another to represent Culture. Their stage placement reflected the general view of  Science and Religion in relation to each other, and where they mesh. And mesh they did. The panelists’ views were largely complimentary, even overlapping, and presented no real debate but an interesting discussion of possibilities.

Except for the cranks, who demanded blood. At one point Science replied to an elderly crank, after responding to their loopy ramblings, ‘Have I helped you? No, you don’t look helped.’

The fellow representing Culture, Bernard Beckett, was a particularly good speaker. He’s a writer and he might have sold himself a book.

The play itself, for which last night was the closer, was as brilliant as I’ve heard. The sets, story, acting and direction were all finely balanced, presenting some pretty complex ideas, events and emotions in a compact and engaging manner.

The writer, Arthur Meek, is only 28.

That bastard. That horribly, obscenely talented bastard.

*I’m actually surprised by the zero turnout of interrupting cranks at the other three lectures. They must have been saving themselves up.

Really quite brilliant

That’s pretty much the only way to describe Matt Suddain (see his blog). Or one very appropriate way. As well as ‘hilarious.’

I encountered him via a friend who pointed out his semi-regular work in the Sunday Star Times.

Also, connecting a connection, I clicked a link on his blog and got a pretty realistic handful of tips on writing in the age of distraction.

Rebuilding evolution

Downstage theatre is currently home to the production Collapsing Creation – a day in the life of Charles Darwin, exploring his Big Idea and the significance of its impact.

Downstage, in cooperation with The Royal Society, have been running a public lecture series as a companion to the play, around Darwin and the theory of evolution. I’ve been to three of the four lectures so far, and I really have to congratulate the team behind the lectures – because they have been deeply interesting marvels to attend.

I hope to see the play before it finishes on 28 November, all the better able to appreciate the more scientific elements of what is meant to be a deeply human story.

The last lecture is a panel discussion, on the play’s last night, consisting of the following interesting mix of bodies:

• Dr. Charles Daugherty – Director, Allan Wilson Centre for Molecular Ecology and Evolution
• Paul Morris – Victoria University Religious Studies Professor
• Bernard Beckett – Science writer and schoolteacher

An oldie for a newie

Since E6’s new album ‘Kill’ hasn’t been released in Kiwiland yet (I’m waiting on the phone call), I’ve been reminiscing.

Here’s the classic ‘Danger! High Voltage’ as performed on Live With Jules Holland.

I, Alice

Look, I’m sure you’ve seen enough coverage of this exhibition already.

But I’ve only just seen it today myself, and I really would hit any of you who didn’t also go and see it. Right in the face, I’d strike you, backhanded, or maybe with a hammer.

Because it REALLY IS WORTH SEEING.

Begin with the paintings (the spaces are designed so it’s hard not to). They’re expansive and immersive 2D works. Their extrapolation toward the scale of the universal is easily imagined, but the almost quaint constraints via the canvas are also considered.  They also carry the very logical progression into immersive spaces. And what possibilities! (Though a pity there are only two). Entering the mirrored 3D / infinite worlds is to enter and occupy the space of image itself.

The works are all very obsessive and textural, and they largely make you feel either lost in the macro of space, or in the micro of the particle.

With the paintings and installations, I also encourage you to observe them from varying distances and angles.

Look – just fucking go. Be lost, be giant, be miniscule, be amazed. Significantly, I’ve never been to an exhibition that’s appealed so much to the senses as it has to the intellect – and, significantly, more so to the former.

Never having read the following quotation (from the artist), I commented to Apple after exiting one dazzling space that I felt like Alice in Wonderland, my perceptions distorted beyond any human sense of proportion:

“I, Kusama, am the modern Alice in Wonderland.” – Yayoi Kusama

Kill

Electric Six always have been hedonistic.

The classic albums ‘Fire’ and ‘Senor Smoke’ were defined by their free-for-all fun. Not every track was a hit, but that was the point. They were albums made on month-long benders, or so they sounded. But there was craft too, in the less sloppy moments cut with wit (‘Gay Bar’ for instance).

Then along came ‘Switzerland’ and I lost faith. Overall, their sound became too considered, really.

Now, a couple of albums later and we have ‘Kill’ – and the single ‘Body Shot’. The track is genre-cheating, sleazed-out porn rock. The kind of thing they do best, but which they also overly depend upon.

The video is an explosion of crassness, as though the distinct but subtly played sleaze of ‘Danger! High Voltage’ has been exponentially and uncontrollably exploded away from. But, my! how wonderfully it achieves its crassness.

It might just be enough to win me back.