Form following function - forget it.

A novel handbag perhaps, born of the jaded imagination of a designer who has tired of creating dress reticules in Italian leather, beads and embroidered silk? A computer with a built-in carry handle – like those old-fashioned transistor radios – designed for executives who can check their complexions in its shiny surface before dashing into meetings – or maybe it is a transistor? A novelty jewellery box with lights that flash every time it is open/shut? No; it’s a toaster, friends – a sandwich toaster, to be exact. Two generations ago, when designers decreed that form should follow function, such an appliance would have screamed its purpose, sitting squarely and proudly on a kitchen counter, and nudging fiercely any other electrical impostor that dared to try to make it redundant. Those days have flown. A quick trawl of the net reveals that all appliances have shed their edges, having been honed and trimmed into round-cornered chumminess – let’s all get along together, shall we? And so many appliances now resemble one another; no individual pride anymore, but a desire to look universally cute and cuddly, what with vacuum cleaners that look like human faces, and computers that resemble cosmetic purses, and cocktail shakers that double up as glow sticks. It could be down to the plastic surgery mentality, the idea that we must all hack and sculpt the protruding pieces of ourselves to try to resemble some notional ideal, extending to gadgetry. More likely, it is designers competing with one another to shoe-horn electronic circuitry into ever more improbable configurations. Fashions have a habit of growing tired, however, and I suspect that one day we will wake up to a whole new generation of rugged, unglamorous and unpretentious toasters, grinders, kettles – but not any time soon.

An orange floating in darkness....

Around 2.30 a.m., the first, tiny bit had vanished from the great Sky Cookie. The Monster continued nibbling at the Cookie, reducing it sector by sector. By 3 a.m., the greedy beast had transformed into a globe of deep orange, with a thin rind of lemon brilliance on one edge…ah! No wonder the ancients believed a lunar eclipse was a definitive portent: the night my son was born, the moon turned red… I didn’t wait to see it return to yellow normality; my warm bed beckoned and besides, I wanted to carry the memory of the celestial orange floating in a sea of eerie darkness, despite there being no cloud – else we wouldn’t have seen the eclipse – into my dreams…

Zaha and the Great Island

Last summer, I joined a crocodile of honest folk, queuing alongside the Olympic competition pool, awaiting the pleasure of jumping in and swimming to the Great Island. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the Great Island is an enormous, blue/yellow inflatable that dwells in the midst of the pool, a cross between a bungee jump and a Wipeout-style challenge. I plunged into the 10-foot pool, bobbed to the surface and swam to the island. I grasped the pull-handles and pulled, and pulled, and pulled… I had just about given up when I pulled me out of the water and onto the Great Island – but the challenge was just beginning. I cleared one hurdle, climbing a plastic mount and sliding down the other side – loved that bit – and that was it. The next challenge was to negotiate another obstacle by working sideways along it with the aid of yet more pull-handles – and there was no, but no way my floppy body was going to triumph. I plunged back into the water, said good-bye to the GI, and spent the rest of the session swimming up and down, up and down, as one does in a pool. Yet, it was an enjoyable experience, and leaving the Tom Daly-style flip dives to the kids did give me an opportunity to contemplate the architecture, and the sheer luxury of swimming in such a space. Congratulations to Zaha Hadid for winning the RIBA gold medal, and a parallel thanks for that marvellous building. I have been to the Aquatics Centre twice already and each time, excitement has filled me on approaching that soaring, inspiring building, and thrilling to its extraordinary shape. What matter if first-time visitors get confused when looking for the entrance? My bet is that the architect intended us to walk around and actually look at it – it’s hardly a hospital A&E department or a police station, after all. One thing is certain; an entire generation of young people in and near Stratford are unlikely to live as couch potatoes – and a number may even become architects.

The Great Kitstallation: pulling the plug on Kitten Art

On first sight, the mind – and eye - boggle. The expanse of fur and checked cloth teases the retina while the finer details come slowly into focus: the exquisite kitten eyes and perfect, pink noses, the authentic felt patches that define the delicately-erect ears. The upturned, adoring and adorable faces add emotional appeal to the piece, while the bright blue and purple baubles about the neck of Mommy Kitten are a touch of vibrancy – and genius – against the more naturalistic background. Like all exotic objets, it hails from a faraway land; Portugal, to be exact. Measuring 15 x 13 x 9 cm, it is small – but they do say that the best goods come in tiny packages. Constructed of cloth and fur, the minute particles of plastic are added for visual variation. But the real appeal of this kitstallation lies in a control box placed discreetly behind the left kitten. Pull the plastic plug from the box and immediately, a distinct caterwauling will greet the ears of the connoisseur, a jingle-jangle, howling-yowling designed to stimulate the senses – and pave the way towards insanity. Believe me, kitten art does not get better than this; it’s so naff, it’s wonderful.

Salad days: growing in judgment with Lidl's readymades

In these posts, I have expressed at least one desire to be Cleopatra; who wouldn’t want to bathe in asses’ milk – good for the skin, they say – walk upon rose petals and lie, wrapped in gold tissue, upon a purple and golden barge that floats down the Nile, while flutes play in time to the rhythm of silver oars? While I don’t fancy getting up close and personal with an asp, I have lately been becoming “green in judgement” with the Lidl range of salads. Baby Leaf and Rocket is what it says on the package, peppery rocket blended with mild, baby red leaves. Italian Salad is a blend of five leaves. Lollo Rosso is mild, with “robust flavour on red tips.” Red multileaf is “crunchy, light and mild in flavour.” Baby leaf spinach is soft to eat and has a delicate flavour, and lamb’s lettuce is tender, light and delicious. Apollo (what a name!) is a green “frilly” leaf that is mild in taste, while endive is crunchy and bitter. There you have it; two different salads, each one an orchestra of texture and flavour. All washed and ready to eat, and at around about a pound for 150g of leaf (five helpings in a pack), you won’t need a pharaoh’s ransom to get one of your five a day.

The Apple Watch: Time Running Out?

The advertisements for the Apple Watch (note the capital “W”) are rolling thick and fast into my mailboxes. On sight, I am impressed. The Watch is as slick a piece of engineering that micro technology has ever delivered. No feature has been left to chance. The customer has a choice of Watch weights and strap colours, and numerous faces are on offer, Mickey Mouse, et al. You go through a “fitting experience” before buying one, and then order it online. Apple describes it as “an accurate timepiece, an immediate communication device and a groundbreaking health and fitness companion.” Companion, eh – are we all that lonely?

But, I digress. Not only is the Watch all of the above, it is attracting reviews too raving and numerous to reproduce here. With prices beginning just under £300 and rising to just over £1,000 for a “basic” Watch, it hardly breaks the bank, either. The cheaper models are made of aluminium, while the more expensive models are of stainless steel. Whatever the material, the details are just too cool; every button and panel, buckle and strap honed for style and simplicity. The Edition Watches are the most highly prized – and priced – with both rose gold and yellow gold models on sale for £8,000 rising to £13,500 – so, you see, something for everyone! Why am I not dashing out to purchase one of these wonderful talismans, as desirable and beautiful as the Philosopher’s stone? Why, when not even the price is a challenge, am I not panting with longing for this magical device that will knock untidy lives into order, keep us connected and fit, and all but endow the wearer with superpowers? Because, gentle reader, in a year or two, the Apple Watch will be obsolete. Another beautiful gadget will displace it, promising to knock untidy lives into order, keep us connected and fit, and all but endow the wearer with superpowers, etc. The Apple Watch will be consigned to the Great Repository of Objects, so longed for once but hence abandoned and forgotten. Besides, I don’t really need one. Fitness I do at the swimming pool, communication I’m doing right now and as for a timepiece; well, I hear Argos has got nice tickers on sale for £10 or so. Watch this space.

It’s your duty to be beautiful….

For centuries, being “fashionable” meant belonging to a particular social set. If you didn’t belong with the in-crowd, then all the clothing in creation would not render you “in fashion”. This state of affairs lasted a surprisingly long time, into the early twentieth century, in fact. However, somewhere between the Great War and World War 2, a sea change came about – fashion historians, inform me – and by the 1940s, the meaning of fashion had morphed to encompass the clothing of “ordinary” people.

Fashion on the Ration, now open at the Imperial War Museum, demonstrates how the same people strove to maintain their fashionable status. At £10, the exhibition is a little pricey and (hint to curators) I would like to have an information booklet included for the money. But it is worth going to see, if only to witness the sheer quality of the garments aged 70+ in years. Near the entrance, we see a floral print blouse that would not look out of place in today’s high street – will Primark items be around in seventy years’ time? There follows displays of more street clothing – don’t miss seeing the extraordinary waisted red wool coat or the mesh summer shoes – children’s clothing, knitting and sewing patterns, an elegant wedding dress, graceful lingerie, fine gloves and handbags, dainty furred shrugs – truly, less was more. We see items of jewellery fashioned from scraps of plastic, utility stockings, lengths of the fabrics of the day (tweed, serge, cotton drill, cotton print, rayon, elastic and lisle), magazine pages of model shoots, and surviving cosmetic items by Yardley and Coty. A rolling vintage video demonstrates the art of felt hat making while another information board describes how women were constantly reminded of their duty “to be beautiful”, if only to maintain public morale during the Blitz years...opinions, please. Fashion on the Ration is open at the Imperial War Museum until August 3, 2015

At home with the Kindle Paperwhite

A few posts ago, I extolled the wonders of white in nature and now, I have another reason to celebrate that convergence of all rainbow colours. My old and faithful Kindle died, leaving me bereft of a bedside and travelling companion and, of course, with the task of choosing a new one. After mussing over the models on sale, I upgraded to a Kindle Paperwhite. At first, KPW felt like a stranger in my company, the home button having vanished in favour of a tap function that conjures a tool bar at the top of the screen. After four days, an interval that included a dash back to the retailer – my thanks to the kind young gentleman in Waterstones who dealt with a sobbing and hysterical me – I finally got to grips with the new machine. The strangeness vanished and I began to warm towards my companion, delighting in the finger gestures that can flip pages forwards and backwards, and magically (it seems) reduce and increase the size of the text. Another thumbs-up to Amazon for retaining the series of original fascias that appear when the machine is turned off, archaic typefaces and typewriter wheels, antique nibs converging in a star, and the wonderful brass inkwell accompanied by a filigreed pen, tropes that refer to the genesis of printing and wordpressing…

Je Suis Art Deco

Shining, gleaming, curved and creamy
Lean and clean and slender, dreamy
Lovely, modern, ship-shaped, steamy
Je suis art deco

Le style moderne est international
Uber chic and uber rational
Bauhaus bling is ever fashionable
Je suis art deco

A city decked in neon light
Sun by day and moon by night
Silver, chrome and grey and white
Je suis art deco

Cocktail bars and jazz and blues
Josephine with painted toes
Black and white and ties and bows
Je suis art deco

The ladies they all dress with care
Diamante bows and shoulders bare
Painted lips and marcelled hair
Elles sont art deco

Smoke rings in a crowded room
Tuxedoed chanteurs start to croon
A silhouette against the moon
Ils sont art deco

Glide across a Bakelite floor
See right through the porthole door
Keep on coming back for more
Je suis art deco

A monument to monochrome
Cooker, fridge and telephone
We love the gadgets that we own
Je suis art deco

Clarice Cliff and Eileen Grey
Merveilleux et enchanté
Day and night and night and day
We love art deco

Marble lido, swimming pool
Ultra chic and ultra cool
A fur bikini is the rule
Je suis art deco

Surfaces subdued and muted
Buildings stepped and glasses fluted
Cities planned and suburbs routed
Je suis art deco

Senate House and Modern, Tate
Chrysler Building, Empire State
Buildings small and buildings great
That was art deco

Bauhaus bling is now passé
Oh, la la, we’ll rue the day
Machine aesthetic went away
We miss art deco.

Fifty shades of white...

White is the colour of winter, ironically when the days are shortest and darkest - what a glorious time of year for artists to chart the structure of trees, branches denuded of foliage against grey skies and blood-red sunsets! White symbolises purity, peace and cleanliness, but there is nothing tame or timorous about the shade. White light, actually a combination of all colours in the rainbow, is brilliant and strong, evoking the might of the thunderstorm with loud crashes and flashes, and bright forks renting leaden skies. White evokes the richness of milk and cream, the tenderness of pale-green meadows sprinkled with flowers of yarrow and myrtle, the beauty of white roses in a summer garden, the mystery of moonlight falling upon leaves of silvery artemisia. Like snow, white is evanescent and ethereal, happening rarely – in Great Britain, at least – and never lasting for long when it does come. Pure white is very volatile, ever threatening to “corrupt” into grey and lemon, pink violet and pale green. Artists have made much use of this volatility, giving us fifty shades and more, of white – just look at The White Duck (1753) by Jean-Baptiste Oudry. It was the longing for well-designed sheets in white linen that caused Chrissie Rucker to found the White Company. Twenty years down the line, it has built a reputation for selling quality bedding and towels, nightwear and cushions, candles and perfumes…