Sunday, July 15, 2007

Art Show: Insider Art

There is an urban myth that true art can only be achieved when minds and hearts are distressed, surpressed, and pushed to the limits. In the spirit of that stereotype (which is often devised by collectors and curators as a means to keep their artists poor) one should ask the question wether truth in art can be better accomplished by artists living in dodgy studios, or inmates of prisoners, mental clinics and immigration detention centres.

For all the different reasons of this world, their neccessity to think about the world is a result of the forced time they have available, timed with the pain of realising what they have lost, given up, traded in or fucked up. Hence, this summer show at the ICA displays some pieces where that pain punches you head on. For instance, somebody has painted hundres of ugly and menacing faces lurking behind him - victims that haunt him or other inmates that want to take revenge...for what?

Others are more subtle while some are even witty and funny: a game, devised to be played by new entrants in a prison as a means to learn the "the way we do things around here" is loosely based on Monopoly, but instead of expensive streets and landmarks you have different wings and visitor centres.

My favourite piece is a large embroidery work that has about hundred names with year tags next to it cluttered around the canvas (yes it does look a bit like copying Tracy's tent) but then these names are also accompanied by icons ranging from gothic faces, pigs, red lips, crosses, dolphins etc. Only when you see one sexually explicit depiction, you start to wonder what the story of this inside (or rather outside?) artist is all about - mind you the names are a mixture of female and male, and the artist is a woman.

Coincidently, I got a DVD today with little animation movies of ideas for future architecture - and one is called "Creative Prison" by Alsop. His idea to transform prisons into places where people unleash their creative potential is based on the statistic that the shocking number of 80% of ex prisoners fail after 2 years in this country. If prisons were more accomodating to inmates to be productive while serving a sentence, then they would better re-socialse and integrate afterwards, because they could apply for jobs with newly acquired skills and certificates.

Moreover, there are not many other places in this country for working class male (unfortunately the majority of inmates) to show any form of feminine emotion, and painting your hopes and fears as well as talking about it when you are awarded with one of the Koestler prizes (the basis for this exhibition). In this light, you should not focus on artistic craftsmanship, but the aspect of identity and possibility.

And never forget: there is always a - if admittably very small - number of inmates in prisons or mental clinics, that shouldn't really be there, not genuine criminals with a long history of violence, but people that somehow got onto the wrong track, did that one mistake and got caught, went to the wrong demonstration, or even got sentenced without any evidence of their guilt like so many in 21st century detention camps - and one of them could be you and me; and how could we possibly survive if not through artisitic expression, just like Koestler, a writer and the founder of this prize, who was wrongly imprisoned for three months during the Spanish Civil War - apparently for civil unrest.

Theatre: Boeing Boeing

As much as I am a contemporary arts man, I am not exactly a theatre man by the same token. And I could - or should. My cousin Eva heads up the music production at the mighty Globe on the Southbank, but when it comes to Shakespeare versus an intense 2-cast blackbox play at the Bush theatre I would favour the latter - sorry sweetie.

More shockingly, I have only been to a West End show once...in five years - and that was upon request of my visiting parents. However, my partner got free tickets for Boeing Boeing, and that is where at least one end closes to my cousin: she wildly recommended me to see this production when Marc Rylance, the then artistic director and head actor at the Globe, departed his venture after 10 years to embark on a mainstream production, yes, this one. (he is not there anymore but his successor was fab to say that upfront)

So, what is it all about?

Revisit the 60s, when flying was considered not a commodity but luxury for a very few, and being an air hostess for a venerable airline granted you C-celebrity status and a lucrative affair with the tanned pilot (B-celebrity) if that was your cup of tea. In Boeing Boeing, however, the air hostesses are all engaged to Bernard, a successful architect living in Paris, and to be precise, he has three of them. He manages this love rectangle with meticulous attention to detail, by studying their flight schedules, changing his diet, and of course, all the taste swings in his swanky appartment.

It all goes smoothly until one day his old friend from school shows up - the exact opposite of the cool elegant playboy, and becomes, you guess it, witness of a day gone wrong: storm over the Atlantic brings the American from TWA back on the wrong evening, and the Italian gets another day in transit, all when his German favourite is supposed to fly in for the night.

What happens then over the course of the next 2 hours is a one big laugh caused by wicked humour, lots of banality jokes, and a terrific performance from Gretchen, the Lufthansa Eagle, who encapsulates the intense drama queen to a T. I have not laughed at my own cultural stereotypes so loudly in a while. And of course, Robert, the dorky shy friend, is being dragged into juggling these three hotbeds, together with the annoyed and cynic house keeper.

The piece is very retro, and predictably posed some questions in my head afterwards: were that the good old times my parents were talking about, when flight schedules were stable (stale) for years, when a lot of jobs triggered a romantic fascination in people, like being a sailor in the 18th century, all before the efficiency squats of huge management consultancies strip all roles and tasks bare of any (inefficient) fun parts. On a side note, an air hostess isn't even called that way any more, but I guess we call them flight attendants more for reasons of political correctness. Fine, but the glamour has gone as well: there is a sarcastic German term for it nowadays coined "Saftschubse" which literally means 'Juice Pusher'. That doesn't suggest IT Girl, does it?

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Photography: The Hitcher by Chris Coekin


Chris Coekin spent 5 years hitch hiking around the UK, picturing himself standing at the road side with cardboards in his hands, as well as documenting road deaths and other relevant topics. For this type of photos he used a disposable camera, while he shot the portraits of the kind and trusting drivers with a more sophisticated equipment, and the results look distinctively different.

Coeking achieves something magical: you start to wonder who these people are - the one in what 50...or even 100 - who actually picks up a complete stranger. I started to analyse the faces, the make of their car, any other evidence of class, background, the jobs they might have been driving to, or from, as well as their age and potential interest.

And then you ask yourself the "why question" - What makes some people to share their "moving castle" with somebody obviously handicapped in his mobility, while hordes of others drive by thinking...well...what do we think when we see somebody displaying a cardboard for a ride? I have taken hitchers when surfing in Cornwall, mainly because I felt sorry for them, and also because I thought I'd get some valuable tip offs in return (I actually did) Then I had situations where I wanted to but didn't have any space. However, I also often don't give a damn, don't I...

The photographer gives away some of the motives why people picked him up, but thankfully, but he only does this every now and again, giving you enough food for thought while leaving enough room for further guessing and wondering.

A selection of the cardboards used to write down his desired destination is mounted in a grid formation on the third wall of the cafe space. This well structured approach is an effective ironic take on the rather inconsistent hit-and-miss approach of hitch hiking, where you probably do not get from A to B in a predictable and orderly fashion, assumably more lateral, often via C and D.

At the Photographer Gallery until 2 Sept

Concert: Manteca at 606 Jazz Club

You drive into Chelsea Harbour, Lots Road, 18th century factory buildings, you stand in front of an unassuming door eyeing through the metal bars down the stairs, no sign, then you find the door buzzer, hidden, a guy in the basment opens the door and you leave 21st century behind and expect a prohibition establishment selling Vodka made in a bath tub.

Downstairs, you enter 606, my favourite Jazz club in London. You won't find the really big international names here (go to Ronnie Scott's) but you will find the creme de la creme of British Jazz as well as young shooting stars from around the world. The trick is, you only spend £10 pounds for fine artists who (in many cases) are band members of the big names anyhow, performing with their own projects and under their own names (you just don't know them) - also a good way to make yourself accomplished with the scene.

On Friday, we were delighted by Manteca, a mixture of salsa and Latin Jazz, and they lit the spark. It only took the opener to turn everybody's attention away from half eaten dinner to a combo of seven lead by Colombian vocalist Martha Acosta. Her passionate singin was backed, pushed and embellished by Trumpet, Sax, Bass, Keyboard, Drums and Bongo. Together, they turned this little venue into a Latino hotbed. The only shame was that there is no place to dance.

At £40 per head including dinner, prosecco and wine, this venue is a real alternative to the bigger names and concert halls, especially if you like it more intimate. A great choice for a second date!

High Street: Wholefoods Temple in Kensington

This is THE ART of Gourmet Shopping and thus it deserves a post on this blog. I know Wholefoods back from The States, where its is the kind of bigger, more corporate brother of Trader Joe's. Granted, most of the food is organic in here, but you have to close one eye on the carbon food print, since it imports a lot from around the world. The trade off is: you will find EVERYTHING, no matter how sophisticated of a home meal you want to cook.

Where in London can you get delicious rarities such plaintains from Costa Rica and fresh Tamarind from Thailand in the same supermarket, instead of trawling different markets from Green Street to North End Road? Exotic goods aside, a lot of the produce is local and spanking fresh, and I have never seen so much choice of salads on a single shelf, well it is 50 feet long!

Basically, this temple of monumental proportions devotes the size of a Tesco Local each to distinct areas such like fish, herbs, nuts, coffee, and easily the size of a Tesco Centre for cheese, wine and staple food. Oh, the wine list...is extensive and covers all our favourites from Casa Lapostolle (Chile) to Rosenblum (California) and you can even (re-) fill your own bottle of organic Spanish wine for £5.

You don't want to just do the usual after-work-stressed-pressing-for-speed go shopping there, you want to spend time on this whole experience; explore, wander, wonder, get lost, find new ways to Rome (I seriously thought about their approach to feasting) and simply be carried away by whatever your 'weakness' is - one thing is for sure, it is measured in calories. According to Meghan, I said "we need to go" apparently a number of times - as a means for self protection against being skint in the first week of a months and blowing-up to Peter Griffin size from the TV series Family Guy by the last of it.

We ended up with a few samples and tasters for a tenner and comparing the prices to Tesco and Planet Organic, well it is somewhat inbetween, depending on your taste buds.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Art Show: Mark Dion - Systema Metropolis

Mark Dion's environments are a bit like art for geeks: a taxonomy of species (mainly insects) and objects found in urban spaces like the Brompton Cemetary, Highgate, and the Thames. In the latter, his research teams find way more plastic bags, balls of all sorts and other waste, but also a dozen species of fish, including a sea horse! And the probes have been taken in front of Battersea Power Station, not Henley.

I do like these taxonomic, almost scientific apporoaches in the art world, being it Michael Landy's 'Breakdown' or Joseph Beuys' 'Wirtschaftswerte' - meticulously documenting, clustering, and clinically displaying whatever they chose to examine. Dion's projects have an archeological strand excavating living creatures as well as man-made objects from locations across the globe. His style of installation, however, reminds me of Damie Hirst's glass vitrines.

My favourite piece in this exhition is the stuff that he digged out of the Themse river, and put it into a translucent tent: you can see what's inside, including clay pipes from the 17th century, but it is all fuzzy and blur, just like the murky water where it rested for weeks or centuries. Only when you walk around it, you can gaze through a fine green moskito-like net, and out of a sudden the objects become clear and sharp - and, well, greener. A nice reflection of the fact, that the Thames is actually a clean river, ok, at least from Fulham upstream.

Until 2 September 2007 at the Natural History Museum

Art Show: Paul Chan

Paul Chan uses moving shadows projected onto Gallery walls and floors. Different objects move through the video surface at differnt speeds, and there is anything from abstract shapes and forms, to cars, trees, people, weapons, lines, dots, and flags

These clever immaterial installations cause many different associations in the spectator. Some samples: Genocide in Africa, Conquistadors versus Indians in 16th century Latin America, ghost ships, planes dropping bombs on cities, villagers watching bombs being dropped at them, bodies jumping down The Twin Towers, AK47 machine guns passing by as if they were feathers in the wind and so on.

However, your associations never get confirmed, it remains fuzzy and ambiguous. And that is the trick. It makes you wander what is out there, has been in the past, and will be in future - or rather is flying around you, painfully visible, or eerily unoticed.

Amongst all this dark visual poetry (the shadows are black after all) there was one thing that made me laughing out loud: I had the pleasure to observe three people either abruptly avoiding to trip onto the shadow projections, or being seriously warned by their anticipating partners "to be careful" as if they would destroy a fragile piece of art. Obviously, the formal and controlled space of a public gallery has ingrained the behaviour in many people to not touch art by all means, and if in doubt, to better not take a close inspection since the guard might strike a pre-emptive alarm. Watching folks when trying not to trip into an immaterial shadow on mere floor tiles, is quite a comical sight, believe me...At the other end, other visitors walked right through the picture, in established wave-into-the-camera-style:-)

Until 1 July at The Serpentine

Theatre: Trance at The Bush

Being a typical small black box theatre, The Bush invites intense plays with a cast of two or three. Trance by Japanese playwright Shoji Kokami perfectly fits the bill, and fills the space with nutter-esque wit and charm: three high school friends pump into each other years later, one has become an psychiatrist, the second a writer and her patient, who also has a crush on her. The triangle is complemented by the third, who lives his identity as a drag queen, with a crush on the writer.

In his schizoid paranoia, the writer believes he is the last emperor of Japan, so his friends need to play roles that fit into this world, in order to be with him and try and help him. That's the plot, and the acting is loud, fast, crazy at times, and painfully funny, especially on the drag queen's side. Towards the end, the script plays with Descartes notion of dreaming and knowing when dreaming, and the roles take multiple twists, and at the end you are (intentionally?) made lost and literally loos the plot alongside this fulminant trio.

Not exactly light entertainment, but a great way to leave a stressful work week behind asking yourself the question: What is Normal?

At The Bush Theatre until 30 June 2007