a graceful acceptance of change

rick-owens_020_aw16-80d0e8571c9b04d52c794bdb627c284eI just read Tim Blank’s elegant and eloquent review of Rick Owens’ RTW Autumn 2016 show, and it once again reminded me about why I love Rick Owens and his unique vision so much. Owens locked himself in his studio and created a collection that, “would look like it was evaporating,” to paraphrase Blanks.

What got my attention in Blanks’ review was Owens’ statement, “It’s reassuring that I’m not going to die, that I’m going to become part of everything and everything is a part of me.” While I am not a religious person, and only vaguely spiritual, the idea of a constant continuum that spreads before us but is in constant flux and never completely dissipates is compelling. That we humans are simply another animal, a collection of carbon that emerges from this, and passes back into it, and that life is simply another stage of this cycle, to be savoured for sure, is a good reminder of why I do what I do.

Change is indeed a constant, but, when guided by awareness, can be managed and even celebrated, much as my man Rick has done.

Plus ca change!

One Man, Five Designers

I am just getting round to posting about Guy Trebay’s interesting article in the NYT on January 8. You can access it here:

One Man, Five Designers

In it, in the service of “intensive” investigative reporting, he subjected himself to wearing 5 “outfits” (my term) by 5 very different designers over what appears to be a period of a few weeks. What results is, from what I gather, the psychological equivalent of whiplash, as he dons “notice me but not too much” Ralph Lauren togs that are intended to bespeak a quiet and very expensive elegance, and then goes to “11” by veering toward the pee-wee herman-esque ridiculousness of Duckie Brown and Thom Browne.

In his article, he talked about the phenomena that psychologists refer to as “enclothed cognition,” wherein, upon enveloping oneself in a certain bit of cloth, one can “become” a person who that person believes personifies a certain gestalt, or, to put it less pedantically, or more accessibly, ” Style is a way to say who you are without having to speak,” as Rachel Zoe says. Based on my own experience, I would paraphrase that to say, “style is a way to say who you want to be to others without having to speak.”

How many of us have purchased a perfect coat or shoes, expecting them to somehow transform our lives, get a better job, a raise, recognition. . .laid?

As I am building my brand and crafting pieces, this is something I am trying to bear in mind, and harness. When someone buys a piece of my art, what emotional triggers are driving the purchase? A memory of a particularly meaningful exhibition? A walk on the beach? A walk in the English Countryside with Isabella Blow on some bizarre “hunting” party?

Will he/she become bolder? More beautiful? More serene?

When they put my piece on, will they be transported? I certainly do hope so. . . .

more. . .

to come. . . .I hope

10% happier and Rothko

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Anyone who knows me knows I love serendipity—little connections between disparate things that somehow make sense. I am going to propose a new connection—meditation and Mark Rothko.

On Sunday I started to use an app, suggested by my mate, called “10% Happier.” It’s developed and supported by a local company, the Change Collective, based in Cambridge, which always makes me happy to shop local.

As I was practicing my meditation this morning, I started to think about the strange but lovely sensation of vibrations like I was flying on a magic carpet. This being meditation, my mind wandered a little bit, until, of course, a soft voice reminded me to focus on breathing (thank you, Joseph!). In that short time, however, I experienced a vibration between my eyes—and no, I was completely straight—and I realized that it reminded me a day, about 22 years in my past, when, visiting dear friends in London, I went to the newly completed Sainsbury wing at the Tate. It’s hard to describe using language what I felt when I walked into this darkened chamber, lit lowly, but enough to help my eyes differentiate the amazing, 1-story tall Rothko paintings. The colors on the dark fields seemed beyond pigment, and to vibrate intensely as if aliens from space were trying to communicate through them. It was a transcendent experience. I stood for a period of time that I cannot recall. I could not look away, and yet, when I finally did, I sobbed quietly, collected my bag, crumpled on the floor, turned, and silently floated away back into the maw of the Tate.

So, no, this is not a sales pitch for 10% happier, or even meditation, but maybe next time you are in front of a Rothko, you may consider meditating. I am sure Joseph would approve.

How did I get here?

TALKING-HEADS550b1If you are of a certain age and mindset, then you likely have a (possibly vague) recollection of the first time you heard the Talking Heads. I’ll admit they were not so high up on my radar until Remain in Light came out, and one song in particular had resonance then, and still does in my life: Once in a Lifetime.

It’s pondering of the existential aspects of life—the meanings and definition of success and satisfaction—were, in some ways, not terribly relevant to a 17 year old with more focus on term papers and parties than attaining a meaningful life. I had yet to be buffeted significantly by the arbitrariness of bureaucracy, the tedium of work you don’t love, the demands of a family, and yes—the joy, too, of love, responsibility, satisfaction in a job well done.

Yet the song remains a lodestar for me, and listening to it often supplies an opportunity to reflect—or genuflect—on the successes I have had, the hard knocks I have endured, the love and support I receive. In performing this relatively unscientific inventory of my time on earth, as a citizen of Brookline, Massachusetts, USA, North America, Earth—as Stephen Dedalus might say—I find the glass half full.

That’s how I got here—and I am thankful.

Creative destruction

With all due respect to Schumpeter, and not withstanding the acrobatics of the Tsipiras government, I decided to engage in some creative destruction myself last week. Behold, the process.

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Step 1: The Patient. I made the necklace above, intended to be inspired by Noguchi. So far, so good. Laying flat, it was fine, but hanging, it kind of did weird things and looked nothing like my vision, so, onto Step 2.

IMG_0092Step 2: Sundering. I cut the joining rings away and then cut the chain off.

IMG_0093Step 3: refinish and refine. So, here’s where I had to figure out what they should be. I had a cuppa and sat and stared. Then, of course, the obvious came. Earrings—very seventies.

IMG_0094Step 4: Soldering. I had to fill the holes that I had used to join then so I inserted rods of fine silver and soldered them into balled ends, and they now kind of “float” above the plate. This was my attempt at motion—a la Calder.

IMG_0095Step 5: Finished. These are the finished earrings with the new floating solder balls and posts for pierced wearing. See below to see them on—a blurry selfie. A lot of fun destroying and creating, I must say.

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Nek Chand’s vision

nek chand rock garden monkeysI must admit I am a bit obsessed with reading obituaries. Of course, I would prefer to learn about amazing people or the occasional talking parrot while they are still alive, but many times I only learn about them in the carefully crafted obituaries that many periodicals take great pride in. It’s funny because there is definitely an art to obituaries, and many authors take some license to reveal something heretofore unknown about very famous people (who knew Lux Interior has a voice over role on Sponge Bob Square pants?!), or lift a person like Nek Chand from relative obscurity—at least in the western canon—to the great delight of folks like me.

Nek Chand, for the uninitiated, is similar in some respects to Hundertwasser and Sisyphus. Left parentless at an early age after the creation of modern-day India, he assumed the role of a civil servant, yet had a vision of art, which he acted upon by creating an entire city of sculpture made from pot shards and other everyday waste, cemented together. His art has a look not unlike Nikki St Phalle, with sinuous lines and a bric-a-brac embroidered look that somehow looks harmonious. Apparently he laboured for years on his city in the middle the jungle, until the city expanded out to him. Threatened with destruction by civilizing forces, his vision was saved, and ultimately celebrated. The Economist obituary claims only the Taj Mahal gets more visitors each day.

Nek Chand was untrained (a primitive, I guess), yet the beauty and sheer magnitude of his “city” can only be described as art. Hundertwasser built a toilet in a remote village in New Zealand and made it a tourist attraction. Nek Chand built a visionary city in a jungle. I am glad I have discovered him and his gentle and humble art.

Tina

tina chow 5images.duckduckgo.comOne of my inspirations for jewelry is Tina Chow. I was just a kid when she was big. I actually found out about her through reading Grace Coddington’s autobiography, as Grace was friends with Michael Chow.

Tina was an original, for sure. Half German-American and half Japanese. She wasn’t complacent, even though she could have just coasted on her looks alone. She started making her own jewelry in the 70s. I love the architectural references, and the geometry in her art, and the way she used so many different kinds of media and made it work. I am sad to hear that she died from AIDS at the age of only 41. Her legacy lives on. I like to think some of my stuff is inspired by her unique vision.

Paul Weller and the Art of Wabi-Sabi

I was lucky enough to see Paul Weller in his latest incarnation on Saturday night. His rise in The Jam and longevity in general, as a musician, artist, and taste maker, is well-earned. What I have always loved about the punk movement is the way it broke free of the dynamics of the music industry at that time (1970s), when Colonels and Kings “made” and “broke” bands and sounds by manipulating the public’s perception of what it should listen to by buying airtime and buying off DJs.

Punk was messy, but it was egalitarian, and possessed the patina of sweat and excreta that was undeniably real, and hand made—Wabi-Sabi, if you will. Perhaps Paul Weller and his mates, Malcolm, and Vivienne were the original western practitioners of Wabi Sabi—re-branded as DIY. If so, I am more than happy to follow in their footsteps, knowing that the time, patience, and integrity I try to imbue my art with is real, and not predicated on a marketing genius’ “vision” of what the public wants.

And yes, Paul and the band were wonderful, glorious, messy, sweaty, and had 4 encores, ending, appropriately, “A Town Called Malice,” a thoroughgoing rejection of Thatcherism, which, you may argue, hastened the demise of “old” England and the rise of a more monochrome, disney-fied version we know today.

I’m not religious

IMG_0062But I love Church. Established in 1873 in Northampton, England, they are apparently still making brogues the old-fashioned way. I love the timeless, yet chic style, and the pragmatism. Of course, they are owned by the Prada group, which makes perfect sense, as Muiccia and her team make whimsical, yet somehow practical stuff that is always super-comfy and long-lasting.

Women in particular—when was the last time you purchased shoes that you expected to wear until they fell off your feet, and that came with meticulous instructions on care? In today’s fast fashion culture it’s great to see that great making by hand is still appreciated and people invest in their belongings and are not hamstrung by mode or convention—regardless of the proselytizing of high street.

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