Seven years ago, I bought a Vidal Sassoon hairdryer for the princely sum of £12.99; 1800 watts, folding handle, 2 heat/speed settings, worldwide dual voltage, cool shot button, 2-year guarantee. Seven years down the line, it is still in perfect running order. In all the time I have had it, it has never given any trouble; coughed, spluttered or conked out while in use. Indeed, its lack of temper and even temperament is in direct opposition to the hank of hair that it routinely grooms.
Compact and streamlined, the brand name emblazoned in plain, white lettering on its shiny black casing, using it is rather like being in the company of one of those maddeningly well-spoken, ex-public school kids who never err, whether by word, deed, or gesture. How you long to see these scions of the well-to-do betray emotion, sprout dishevelled hair and effect slurred speech, just for once.
I am certain that these people have vices. Indeed, I know it. Yet somehow, they keep their private personae just that, private. Maybe that is the essence of good breeding? Meanwhile I have my hairdryer for company – and example.
Sunday 23 August 2009
Thursday 20 August 2009
Brickbusting,,,
It is thirty-seven years since Tate Gallery acquired artist Carl André’s Equivalent VIII. This installation comprises one hundred and twenty fire bricks arranged in two layers in a six-by-ten rectangle. When first exhibited at Tate Gallery in 1976, now Tate Britain, the piece drew much criticism from the press because of the perception that taxpayers’ money had been spent on paying an inflated price for a collection of bricks. (Wikipedia)
Ah, what a genius is André, what a visionary! His installation went on display in a quiet interval in British history, that pause before the buying and selling of brick and mortar became the passion, the all-time obsession of the paying public. Interestingly, the media reaction to Equivalent VIII was also symptomatic of things to come. It is only taxpayers’ money that must never be spent on building and its raw materials, their own built patches never drawing quite enough cash from private buyers.
But who is Carl André? He was born in Massachusetts in 1935 and studied art at Phillips Academy, Andover. Later, he was to work with Constantin Brancusi and Frank Stella. From 1960 to 1964 André worked as freight brakeman and conductor in New Jersey, an experience that was to influence both his art and personality. For a number of years he concentrated on writing, most notably his concrete poetry, in which the typographical arrangement of words is as important in conveying the intended effect as the elements of the poem; meaning of words, rhyme, rhythm, and so on.
In 1965 he had his first exhibition of minimalist sculpting; a term applied to various forms of art and design, especially visual art and music, where work is stripped down to its most fundamental features. (Wikipedia) If any artist alive knows about fundamental features, it is certainly Carl André.
Ah, what a genius is André, what a visionary! His installation went on display in a quiet interval in British history, that pause before the buying and selling of brick and mortar became the passion, the all-time obsession of the paying public. Interestingly, the media reaction to Equivalent VIII was also symptomatic of things to come. It is only taxpayers’ money that must never be spent on building and its raw materials, their own built patches never drawing quite enough cash from private buyers.
But who is Carl André? He was born in Massachusetts in 1935 and studied art at Phillips Academy, Andover. Later, he was to work with Constantin Brancusi and Frank Stella. From 1960 to 1964 André worked as freight brakeman and conductor in New Jersey, an experience that was to influence both his art and personality. For a number of years he concentrated on writing, most notably his concrete poetry, in which the typographical arrangement of words is as important in conveying the intended effect as the elements of the poem; meaning of words, rhyme, rhythm, and so on.
In 1965 he had his first exhibition of minimalist sculpting; a term applied to various forms of art and design, especially visual art and music, where work is stripped down to its most fundamental features. (Wikipedia) If any artist alive knows about fundamental features, it is certainly Carl André.
Sunday 16 August 2009
Nappy days!
No, I haven’t become a parent, but I’ve just spent some time in the company of one and I feel it my duty to warn other parents of dark, low-down dangers lurking out there. It all happened while Mum, Baby, older Junior and I were touring the local shopping paradise. Mum bought a stash of much-needed nappies from a branch of a well-known pharmacy chain.
Set up for the day, we continued on our tour, pouring over all manner of goods; toys for older Junior, clothing, shoes, cosmetics and jewellery. In short, it was a girls’ day-out heaven. However, when we entered an upmarket department store, the security system alarm rung. Our party was definitely the transgressor. Later, when leaving the store, we artfully divided our shopping between Mum, older Junior and me, and all went through separate gates.
It was my first time ever to set bells ringing. A female security office appeared out of nowhere, offering her assistance. My carrier bag contained a pair of (paid for) sandals – and the plastic sack of nappies. The security check turned into a good-natured banter. What if, I said, there was a security tag attached to all the nappies, and Baby set off alarms wherever she went?
A laughing security woman left us. We hurriedly returned to the pharmacy where they deactivated (how that?) an electronic tag on the nappy bag. Of course, Baby gurgled nonchalantly throughout the entire incident, which has left me wondering: does the phrase secure nappy have a new meaning?
Set up for the day, we continued on our tour, pouring over all manner of goods; toys for older Junior, clothing, shoes, cosmetics and jewellery. In short, it was a girls’ day-out heaven. However, when we entered an upmarket department store, the security system alarm rung. Our party was definitely the transgressor. Later, when leaving the store, we artfully divided our shopping between Mum, older Junior and me, and all went through separate gates.
It was my first time ever to set bells ringing. A female security office appeared out of nowhere, offering her assistance. My carrier bag contained a pair of (paid for) sandals – and the plastic sack of nappies. The security check turned into a good-natured banter. What if, I said, there was a security tag attached to all the nappies, and Baby set off alarms wherever she went?
A laughing security woman left us. We hurriedly returned to the pharmacy where they deactivated (how that?) an electronic tag on the nappy bag. Of course, Baby gurgled nonchalantly throughout the entire incident, which has left me wondering: does the phrase secure nappy have a new meaning?
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