Audrey with toes and wrist bent, 2011 - Nadav Kander
It's been way, way, way too long since I last did any life drawing, and by god I miss it. While I wait for the opportunity to start again, it's good to see the work of others trying to capture the human form in a way that is neither lecherous nor tedious. As such, I was impressed by the ten photographs of nudes by Nadav Kander posted by the Guardian on Friday to accompany an exhibition of Kander's latest work (and, in their infinite wisdom, enabled comments - as always, best avoided). While the accompanying copy lays it on a bit thick - "nudity never loses its power to shock"? Really? - the images themselves are fascinating. All too often you'll see paintings striving to look like photographs, rarely vice versa, yet when you first look at these it's actually a bit of a struggle to compute the knowledge that they're not paintings, that these are not figures rendered in oils or pastel, but flesh and blood (particularly that first image). Pale skin blindingly white surrounded by darkness, monochrome but for red hair. Striking, beautiful, I love how these images capture the human body in a way that is both warts-and-all real (a la the paintings of Lucien Freud) and ethereal, like white chalk on black paper, dead and alive. Could've done without the chicken drumstick, mind.
I've blogged before about the wonderful Maurice Sendak and, on top of his exceptional body of work, what a delight he was to listen to in interview. Right at the end of 2012, the New York Times uploaded this wonderful 5-minute video, which takes an excerpt from an interview Sendak gave in 2011 to Fresh Air on NPR where he discusses his mortality, his atheism and the sadness of seeing friends go before him, depicted with simple but charming illustrations from Christoph Niemann. It's incredibly moving, and I cannot recommend it enough - please, do find 5 minutes to play this, but not in public. Every sentence is precious, heartfelt and raw, awash with emotion and sincerity, and I swear within 4 minutes I was in tears. His voice, oh god...
James Kochalka's sketchbook diaries came to an end on New Year's Eve - two weeks on, I still miss those daily glimpses of life and imagination, but I completely understand why he's chosen to move on after so many years (the first strip in volume 1 of the collected diaries is from 26 October 1998). Somehow I imagine rereading them now I'm a parent will add a new dimension to his more family-centred strips - just two weeks before the diaries came to an end, his strip for 16 December resonated a hell of a lot with me, given my abject failure to be an artist (unlike Kochalka himself). I'll probably print it out, pin it up and bash myself round the head with it the next time I'm bemoaning my (lack of) professional lot. Maybe it seems a self-evident message, that being a great Dad would be achievement enough, but it still means a lot to see it captured so simply. To the Elf himself, I would say thanks for keeping up that daily discipline for so long, and all the best for the future - you've been more of an influence than you'll ever know, and not just because I'll never look at a paddling pool the same way again.
WATCHING: Hairy Bikers' Bakeation (BBC2/BBCHD/iPlayer). Normally I really dislike cookery programmes. With cooking (like sport, or sex) it's usually much more fun to be an active participant than a passive observer - and after watching someone prepare some delicious food on such shows, you don't even get to taste it! Oddly, the rare few I have actually enjoyed enough to watch all the way through have all been focused on baking. I'm not entirely sure why that is - perhaps because I'm already comfortable with basic bread making, perhaps the relatively messy aspect of baking helps avoid the soft-focus tweeness of other shows? Dunno. Whatever it is, while I really enjoyed Rachel Allen's Bake! series (her visit to Falko led directly to our choice of wedding cake), I quickly lost interest with her Home Cooking series despite following a near-identical format. And while I normally wouldn't bother watching the Hairy Bikers cooking their merry away through a series & tie-in book, I've found myself cheerfully tuning in to the Hairy Bikers' Bakeation this month.
Two episodes in, it's an odd but generally endearing mix of a) yon Hairy Bikers baking a recipe available on the BBC website (and the tie-in book), b) a baker from whatever country they're in demonstrating how they make their own particular specialities, and c) general travelogue malarkey as they make their way around Europe. The first episode was cracking, focused on Norway, complete with oodles of beautiful vistas, quietly polite people, a jaw-dropping hotel and gorgeous bakeries, culminating in a bread that looked so good the inability to taste it was infuriating (where's my Wonkavision?). The cooking highlight was probably 95-year-old Nikka, a lovely old lady who looked like she'd been drawn by Sylvain Chomet, and her decades-old waffle iron - good luck getting one of those in Lakeland. The mix of travel show and cookery show isn't the smoothest, and the second episode (cramming in the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg) was very much travel show first, cookery second. Still, hopefully upcoming ones will spend a bit more time back in the bakery, particularly the episodes in Germany and Austria. And while the Hairy Bikers' schtick is laid on thicker the stodgiest wholemeal ever, somehow it's on just the very edge of the right side of cheery-daftness/downright-annoyingness. Now if only they didn't have such a propensity towards nudity...
Anyway, you can get recipes from the show up on the BBC Food site, while the trans-European nature of the show has been picked up by the Open University who've produced a fascinating interactive map on the language of baking across Europe. And while there are clips available to view, there don't seem to be any embeddable ones - silly Beeb! - so we'll just have to make do with this not-safe-for-work spot of re-editing by Cassetteboy instead.
READING: For fans of all things Moominage and Moominish, I'd highly recommend this article that caught my eye, The Moomins, and their gift for tolerance written by Gordon Campbell over two years ago. It's a lovely piece of writing that captures the joy of the Moomins, the emotional heart, the depths, the things that have made the Moomins ring true for so many people over the last 60+ years.
What makes the Moomin stories so enjoyable – and so popular with parents as well as children – is the wit, compassion and energy present in such abundance. Adults and children respond alike to the same elements in these books, which is quite a rare event.
[...] One English boy wrote to her : ‘I enjoy the Moomins so much because they are so unreal in form, and so real in person.’ No author, Jansson wryly responded, could ask for a higher compliment.
Melancholy, ambivalence, loss and disillusionment, yearning and disappointment are Tove Jansson's great themes; she is also really, really funny. The unnameable may be no farther away than the bottom of the garden, but it is also no closer. Moominland has floods, comets and tornadoes, but it also has Moominmamma, who can banish most terrors with weapons no stronger than a cup of coffee and a good spring cleaning.
LISTENING: Just getting into the latest album from School of Seven Bells, Ghostory. It carries on the lovely jangly wall of sound from their previous records with a great pulsing relentlessness, like Cocteau Twins doing krautrock. The standout so far for me is the first track, which is rather scuppering the rest of the album because as soon as The Night finishes, more often than not I'll press |< and play it again (it's great for getting a fast walking pace going, particularly for marching up Leith Walk after work).
BEING IMPRESSED BY: I'm at least a week behind the rest of the Internet on this, but stuff it - if you've not had the pleasure yet, do watch this five minute video of the Wrecking Crew Orchestra from Japan. It's thrilling stuff, using electro-techno like Daft Punk and Justice to soundtrack dancing in 'neon suits', said suits being turned on & off to give the boggling impression of video editing cuts happening in reality. Definitely one for watching in as HD as possible.
In the last couple of months I've been getting more and more interested in the more peculiar, non-religious traditions and ceremonies to be found out there, particularly in the UK. I've previously yelped excitedly about Mitteleuropa traditions like Krampus and last month's Lucerne Carnival, and I'd do a christmas card based around the Icelandic tradition of The Yule Cat if it wasn't basically a cautionary tale against being poor. But with a Sprög on the way I want to become more aware of enjoyably odd traditions in the British Isles (and beyond) that we can bamboozle our child's young mind with.
To be fair, there's more to it than befuddling our offspring. There's something really fascinating about this stuff and why it happens. As our lives have become less about local communities and great extended families, there are less and less opportunities to feel like you're part of something bigger than yourself. Organised religion meets this need, likewise the supporting of sport teams (though arguably both scenarios are as much about defining the group by its rivals as anything else). But what about us godless sport-spurning heathens, wifey & I?
We've previously marched through Edinburgh holding flaming torches (see above) and gave the Beltane Fire Festival a go. And although the latter was too over-subscribed to feel a part of what was happening, the former was really enjoyable (at least until we started seeing toddlers in pushchairs holding flaming torches, or that guy who shoved his still-fiery torch into his backpack so he could take a photo). There really was a strange thrill about being one flaming torch out of many, something oddly primal about walking through these streets usually filled with cars and buses carrying fire on a cold December night. There was no obvious religious aspect to it, yet it scratches a certain itch for enough people that it's become a key event in Edinburgh's Hogmanay celebrations.
We've moved out of Auld Reekie, but curious local traditions remain. I'm looking forward to taking the little 'un on the village parade that forms part of the Aberdour Festival later this year, but for real nearby oddness there's no beating The Burryman. An annual tradition in South Queensferry, just on the other side of the Forth, the Burryman's Parade takes place in August. A local man is covered from head to ankles in burrs, complete with a bowler hat of flowers, and paraded around the town, supping whisky through a straw along the way (the issue of going to the toilet has thankfully been addressed, lest ye worry). According to A Dictionary of British Folk Customs (1978), referenced in the above Wikipedia entry, the giving of whisky and money to the Burryman brings good luck, while discontinuing the custom would bring bad luck. That said, there seem to be numerous other theories as to what it's all about, from scaring away evil spririts (or possibly children) to human sacrifice, but that doesn't really matter anyway - it's simply what's done, a splendidly odd ceremony that halts normality in its tracks once a year. I'm really looking forward to popping over there with the sprög for future appearances from the Burryman (and if there isn't a local 80's indie-jangle-rock covers band called Echo & The Burrymen, I'm bloody well starting one).
I was delighted to see that the Burryman makes an appearance in a recent DVD collection of film on traditions across the British Isles - he's even on the front cover, backed by the Forth Bridge! Here's a Health to the Barley Mow is a real treat, a collection of documentary footage dating from 1912 to 2003 compiled by the BFI onto two DVDs + 58 page booklet (it's priced at £23 on the BFI site but you can get it for half that on Amazon). There's six hours of film in there, capturing a surprising range of folk traditions and customs from Kirkwall to Cornwall. There's 1920's morris dancers (complete with some unsettlingly eerie costumed characters), the Stonehaven fireball festival, accapella pub singing, tar barrel rolling and loads more - and I'm tickled to see it's rated 12 for "dangerous activity which could be copied."
While you wouldn't spend six hours playing it from start to end, it's a joy to dip into now and then and see a side of Britain that's reassuringly odd, separate from organised religion or state-sanctioned celebration, something earthier, primal, unsafe, unpredictable, yet inclusive and communal. It makes me wonder if kids growing up today suffer from the lack of local customs that would previously have brought everyone together, making them feel part of where they are rather than being treated as suspicious outcasts just for being young. Here's a wonderfully exuberant clip from one of the highlights of the DVD, a 1953 film called Oss Oss Wee Oss about the May Day celebrations in Padstow.
For a more contemporary view of what traditions and customs are still being practiced across the land in the 21st century, check out Mummers, Maypoles and Milkmaids. It's a collection of photographs by Sara Hannant, and although it's limited to dear old England (I'd love to see a companion book of Scottish rituals) there's still plenty of variety in the rituals on show. The photography itself is excellent, capturing a sense of action, colour, chaos and fun, complemented with text explaining the ritual. It's all the more fascinating for the now-ness of the surroundings (Somerfields, travel agents, a Tube station sign, digital cameras) juxtaposed with horse skulls, maypoles, green faces, hobby horses, fire. Just like the Burryman, there's a delight in seeing these strange other-worldly symbols appearing in what looks like modern normality. Click through to Ms Hannant's website to see more.
Then there's this fantastic selection of photographs from carnivals across the world last month at The Big Picture. They're all fascinating, but picture 32 particularly caught my eyes - again, it's the juxtaposition of the everyday city with something altogether different, out of place. It jars the mind, as though for a brief moment there's a glitch in the Matrix, the facade has fallen, an unexpected answer to that children's book.
A man in costume passes a ticket control gate in the train station during Carnival in Cadiz, Spain on February 20, 2012. (Marcelo del Pozo/Reuters)
Nuts to Disneyland and all that nonsense - thanks to this post on BuzzFeed I'm now determined to take young Beowulf Nagl (thought I should settle on an online pseudonym for him in advance of his arrival, much as I'd love that to be his actual name) to the Carnival in Lucerne, Switzerland one year. LOOK!
Every year, towards the end of winter, Carnival (Fasnacht) breaks out in the streets, alleyways and squares of the old town. This is a glittering outdoor party, where chaos and merriness reign and nothing is as it normally is. Strange characters in fantastic masks and costumes make their way through the alleyways, while carnival bands (Guggenmusigen) blow their instruments in joyful cacophony and thousands of bizarrely clad people sing and dance away the winter. Lucerne Carnival starts every year on the Thursday before Ash Wednesday with a big bang. There are big parades on Dirty Thursday and the following Monday, called Fat Monday, which attract tens of thousands of people. Lucerne's Carnival ends with a crowning finish on Fat Tuesday evening with a tremendous parade of big bands, lights and lanterns. After the parade, all the bands wander through the city playing joyful music.
STOCKHOLM — Champis the bunny doesn't only hop – he also knows how to herd his masters' flock of sheep, possibly having picked up the skill after watching trained dogs do the job.
The 5-year-old pet rabbit from the small village of Kal in northern Sweden shot to online fame last week, having garnered more than 700,000 YouTube hits so far, after a clip of his sheep herding skills surfaced on a blog.
[...] Dan Westman, a sheepdog breeder who shot and posted the video of his friends' bunny, said he was in awe when he first witnessed the phenomenon, noting Champis does the job even better than most dogs would.
"It's really incredible, it's a herding rabbit," he said. "He rounds them up, and if they get close to escaping through the gate he sometimes stops them," he said.
"I mean I work with sheepdogs and know how hard this is. There are very few dogs that could do what this rabbit does." [More at the Huffington Post and the shepherd's own blog!]
This could possibly be the perfect Stephen Colbert interview - the mighty Maurice Sendak is a crotchety joy to behold, eyes sparkling with the mischief and humour that was lacking from this Guardian interview last year. Highly recommended, right to the very end of part 2 where Sendak gives his opinion on ebooks. Colonials can watch it via Colbert Nation, but us foreign types must rely on the charity of YouTube.
I'm not normally one for pranks, but this made me laugh (probably because there's no meanness behind it, beyond driving someone to distraction with cat stuff). As BuzzFeed explains...
After Redditor frackyou's little cousin posted his phone number on Facebook, he came up with the purrfect prank.
A 'Blue Marble' image of the Earth taken from the VIIRS instrument aboard NASA's most recently launched Earth-observing satellite - Suomi NPP. This composite image uses a number of swaths of the Earth's surface taken on January 4, 2012. The NPP satellite was renamed 'Suomi NPP' on January 24, 2012 to honor the late Verner E. Suomi of the University of Wisconsin.
Suomi NPP is NASA's next Earth-observing research satellite. It is the first of a new generation of satellites that will observe many facets of our changing Earth.
Suomi NPP is carrying five instruments on board. The biggest and most important instrument is The Visible/Infrared Imager Radiometer Suite or VIIRS.
I'll always love Michel Gondry for the wonder of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (even if it did spawn this über-whiny post from yours truly eight years ago - ah, I was so young...), but his last couple of films haven't appealed much.
HURRAH, then, for this minute-long absolutely-goddamn-barmy advert he's made for a Japanese department store, posted on Film Drunk. Contains much shouting, shrieking, big feet and HAHAHAHAHAHA, which is as close to heaven as you're likely to get on a Wednesday.
