Review: THE SCULPTOR by Scott McCloud

David Smith is having the weirdest, worstest birthday ever. He just got fired, he's about to be kicked out of his apartment, he's flat broke, and it looks like his dreams of becoming a successful sculptor are about to die a cruel death. Then he runs into his Uncle Harry. Problem: Uncle Harry's dead. Instead, David's talking to the Grim Reaper, who offers him a deal he can't refuse. David will receive the ability to magically manipulate any material with his bare hands, a dream for the down-on-his-luck artist. The catch is, if he accepts the offer, he'll die in 200 days. David agrees eagerly, only to find out that success and ability don't necessarily go hand-in-hand, and 200 days isn't nearly long enough when you're in love.

Scott McCloud is undoubtedly considered an expert on the subject of comics–his book, Understanding Comics, is the go-to comic book about comics, or so I've heard–but The Sculptor is his first graphic novel. I have to agree with Neil Gaiman that it's the best graphic novel I've read in years. But it's also cynical as shit and gives Hamlet a run for its money in depressing endings.

It would be a little too much to call The Sculptor masterful, but it is REALLY well-done, and it's definitely something you should read, especially if you're a fan of Bryan Lee O'Malley. McCloud and O'Malley share a gift for telling a visual story in a very clear, yet expressive way. There are no wasted lines or panels in The Sculptor: everything on the page is drawn economically and is well-composed, with an understanding of how to use negative space for visual impact. As someone who tends to gets headaches reading graphic novels that are visually cluttered, I absolutely loved McCloud's drawing style.

David discovers his new powers.

The story is very well-told, too, and it's meaty. McCloud takes the typical art historical tale of the hero-genius and turns it on its head, questioning why we create art, why we buy it, why we lionize it, and what the definition of success should be. I loved that David's sculpture develops over the course of the novel. I have to admit, when I saw his first sculptures, I thought they were borderline terrible. But by the end of the book he's actually doing things that are very original and interesting.

That said, I'm not sure The Sculptor is really about art per se. It's more about ego and legacy and forming connections. As in some of the greatest heroic journeys, David has to be stripped of absolutely everything, even his promises to himself, before he can recreate himself and change his life.

I also loved the main female character, Meg. Talk about a fully-realized female character. Even though her role in the book is basically as David's love interest, she has her own things going on and a complex backstory with a believable, unidealized personality that McCloud does a fantastic job of expressing both visually and through dialog.

David checks out his competition for an important art prize.

I would absolutely give The Sculptor five stars and list it as one of my favorite books... if it wasn't for the ending. Look, The Sculptor's obviously going to be a tragedy, that's clear very early in the novel. But the cynicism of the conclusion and the way it played out completely blindsided me. Life has no meaning and we all die and there's no afterlife. Oh, and no one gives a fuck about art and nothing matters. I've felt more cheerful after watching Romeo & Juliet. I'm not saying McCloud should have changed the ending–it made sense with the story–just that I can't fully get behind something that unrelentingly cynical.

I still think The Sculptor is very much worth reading, though. And you've been warned about the ending, so you can prep with some whiskey to brace yourself.



Discus this post with me on Twitter, FaceBook, Google+ or in the comments below.

The Salon: A Continuing Investigation

Paul Gauguin's Spirit of the Dead Watching shows his Tahitian wife, Tahura.

For several years, I've been following the activities of a cabal organization known as The Salon. It all started when I read the graphic novel The Salon, by Nick Bertozzi, which takes place in pre-War (World War I, that is) Paris and is about a group of people—Alice B. Toklas, Erik Satie, Picasso, Georges Braque, Guillaume Apollinaire, etc.—who drink a special absinthe that allows them to enter paintings. It's all fun and games until Paul Gauguin's fourteen-year-old Tahitian wife, Tehura, uses the absinthe to travel OUT of the paintings and into the real world, where she wreaks vengeance! against Gauguin and his asshole friends for sexually objectifying her. In response, The Salon develops Cubism, which relegates its subjects to two-dimensions.

I know you're probably thinking this is just fiction. That's what I thought, too, until a woman attacked Gauguin's painting Two Tahitian Women at the National Gallery, screaming, "This is evil!" and told police that Gauguin, "was evil and the painting should be burned," the exact method The Salon used to destroy the paintings with Tehura in them. Coincidence?! Add to that the fact that no one seemed to know who the woman was and the whole incident smacked definitively of The Salon.


An artist's studio filled with portraits of the same woman.

Since then The Salon has been keeping a low profile, but last night on the TV show Grimm, they appeared again. The episode, titled "Kiss of the Muse," was about a woman who, because she's a magical Wesen creature (work with me here) naturally attracts artists. Only to drive them insane to the point that they start killing one another and themselves in order to be with her. It's revenge for objectification all over again.

But that's not all. During the episode we learn more about this Wesen creature, and it turns out SHE WAS THE REASON GAUGUIN AND VAN GOGH SPLIT UP AND VAN GOGH WENT CRAZY ZOO CRACKERS. You see, Van Gogh and Gauguin were hanging out in Arles, happy as one massively egotistical and narcissistic artist and one really sweet and sensitive artist could be, until Van Gogh saw this "musai," or muse, and started obsessively painting her. When Gauguin showed up, Van Gogh perceived him as a threat to his exclusive relationship with his muse and threatened Gauguin with a razor blade. After Gauguin left, Van Gogh's spiral continued, and he eventually cut off his own ear.


Massive portrait of the artist's muse. Crazy colors show he's on the edge!

I know what you're thinking—if that's true, where are the paintings of this muse of Van Gogh's? THE SALON DESTROYED THEM, obvs! The more interesting question is, why would The Salon reveal itself on a TV show like Grimm? Answer: I think The Salon is trying to tell us something. It wants us to beware of all representational art and sexual objectification, because muses are more dangerous than you think. Even with The Salon's promotion of abstract art, people still like to represent things.

Does The Salon know something we don't? Has another muse escaped her painting to cause death and destruction? I will post more details as they become available.




Discus this post with me on Twitter, FaceBook, Google+ or in the comments below.

A Novel In Pictures

Interior of the Blue Mosque. Source: flickr.com via Tasha on Pinterest

I was browsing on the webbernets yesterday afternoon, and came across a great article by Bharat Tandon, "Living in Jane Austen's Emma," at Huffington Post. Actually, the article itself isn't what I liked; it was the slideshow of images Bharat used to help him illustrate, in his own mind, Jane Austen's Emma, which I found most interesting.

I don't necessarily think books have to be illustrated, but I love the idea of creating a collection of images that connect with a book you've read. I tend to do this with novels that feature historical figures or actual places. With The Oracle of Stamboul (review here), for example, I created a board on Pinterest with people and places from the novel, such as the Blue Mosque, the Library of the Sultan, and the African Hoopoe. I also had a lot of fun looking up photographs of people from Ferdynand Ossendowski's memoir Beasts, Men and Gods (review at PGP).

Anyway, I thought it would be fun to pick out some images for my current read, The Red Necklace. It takes place in 18th-century France and there's a lot going on: magic, gypsies, automaton, evil counts, and that's just in the first fifty pages!

Source: en.wikipedia.org via Tasha on Pinterest

This automaton was built in the 18th century by Henri Maillardet. Click through to see a video of the automaton writing. Super creepy!

Source: ouatv1.blogspot.com via Tasha on Pinterest

If you didn't already know Regina on Once Upon a Time was evil, her obsessively duo-chromatic office would make it obvious. The description of how the evil count's rooms were decorated in The Red Necklace reminded me of this.

Source: upload.wikimedia.org via Tasha on Pinterest

The Marquis de Villeduval's library is fabulous, with two stories of books and spiral staircases leading up to the mezzanine at either end, and reminded me of the Prunksaal in the National Library of Austria.

Source: 18thcenturyblog.com via Tasha on Pinterest

Source: nga.gov via Tasha on Pinterest

Setting fashions of the the nobility is important in The Red Necklace to convey the difference in the classes.



What images would you select to illustrate your current read?

The Sunday Salon: Parallels Between Publishing Today and the Birth of Modern Art

Edgar Degas, Mary Cassatt at the Louvre, 1879. Image courtesy of the Met.

We're studying impressionism in my art history course this week, and I couldn't help but notice some similarities between the art world during that time period and the publishing world today--specifically, the impact eBooks, self-published or otherwise, are having on publishing. For instance:

• Deskilling A common statement about modern art is that, "my five-year-old could do that." And when you compare a Pissarro to a Vermeer, the former does look pretty bad. But people don't care about skill! That much. They care more about the ideas behind the pieces and that they're something new and different. Similarly, self-published eBooks are often criticized for grammatical mistakes and lack of editing. But people don't care! I mean, I care, but if Fifty Shades is on the NYT Bestseller List obviously there are a lot of people who don't. They just want to read something new and different! But not too different, like different in the sense that you feel uncomfortable while reading it. Also, being really cheap or free helps. Moving on...
  
• Establishment vs the Salon des Refusés Whenever you have a system to evaluate the worth of something and promote that which is judged superior, there are going to be rejections and hurt feelings. However, in 1863, the Academy Salon in Paris rejected 3,000 pieces of art, far more than they ever had before. It was so extreme the French government sponsored a salon of the rejected work, which included what are now some of the most famous pieces of 19th century art. Basically all these young artists who set the groundwork for the crumbling of the Salon wanted to be let into the establishment in the first place. They didn't set out to tear the system down, but the Salon had become too conservative and didn't want to be shaken up by new ideas. Similarly, one of the complaints I hear from self-published authors are that the Big 6 publishers don't support mid-listers anymore, which is where most new authors would start out (keep in mind all my information is hearsay, and this may only be a few people's experience). It makes sense that, as the economy gets worse, publishers are buttoning down the proverbial hatches and not taking chances on lesser-known writers anymore; but where are those writers going to go? They'll probably self- or e-publish.
• Technology Impressionists are famous for painting scenes of modern life, not allegories with cupids or historic scenes. Their images included trains and factories, and they were interested in the latest and greatest technology, science, theories, and newspaper reports. I don't think one could say the total opposite was true of Salon artists of the same time period, but the work of artists like William-Adolphe Bouguereau, whom Degas and Monet believed would be the most famous artist of their generation (with more than a little disgust), definitely has a completely different sensibility. I.e., frolicking cupids. In a similar way, it seems like some publishers are being dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century--not just in their acceptance of eBooks, but also in their business models.

Obviously, none of these parallels are exact because we're looking at two different centuries, art forms, and cultures. But from my perspective as a reader, this is a very exciting time period in literature. The rules of how and what is being published are shifting rapidly, and that offers a great opportunity for writers to experiment, as well as an audience open to reading their work. Will we soon have the literary equivalent of modern art? Is Fifty Shades our generation's Impression: Sunrise?

Gawd. I hope not (but then I do confess I have a soft spot for Bouguereau).

Book Review: THE HURRELL STYLE, 50 YEARS OF PHOTOGRAPHING HOLLYWOOD by Whitney Stine

When George Hurrell came to California in the 1920's as an aspiring artist, his dream was to paint. Little did he know that his hobby of photography would quickly propel him into a career of photographing the world' most famous movie stars for Hollywood studios. From 1928 to 1978, Hurrell photographed for MGM, Paramount, Samuel Goldwyn, Twentieth Century-Fox, Warner Bros., and many other studios, capturing the likenesses of every actor from Ramon Navarro to Keith Carradine.

Johnny Weissmuller, photograph by George Hurrell, 1932

This is an odd book; it wasn't quite what I was expecting. It's more of memoir than a history, but it's organized by actor, chronologically, so there isn't really a narrative. I wouldn't say there's much of a focus, either; Stine gives us some background on the stars--especially the less familiar ones--and Hurrell tells stories about how he took the photographs, which may involve his technique or personal anecdotes about the stars themselves. I wouldn't say it's boring, because Hurrell's stories are really interesting; and although he is clearly recounting these incidents to Stine through a long series of interviews, you can tell he's quite the character.

Tallulah Bankhead, photograph by George Hurrell, 1936

To evoke different types of reactions in the actors, Hurrell would play music, dance around the studio while clicking away on his camera, or shout random phrases for no reason. Some of the stars he got to know really well and others he only met once, but his perceptive descriptions of their personalities is definitely of interest to anyone intrigued by movie history; and his descriptions of technique, such as how he framed the shots and developed some of the prints, is most certainly relevant for anyone who's serious about practicing, or likes to read about, photography.

Anna May Wong, photograph by George Hurrell, 1938

That being said, the book as a whole just feels blah and is kind of tedious to read. For one, the organization of it into star-by-star essays makes reading it seem very repetitive. Here's this one actor Hurrell photographed, and here's this other actor, and here's this other famous actor. O-kaaay. For another, there is zero analysis in this entire book. I've read wikipedia entries with more insight than these essays. And it's a shame, because Hurrell's work wasn't just promotional pablum; some of the photographs in the book are freaking amazing. You can tell he's more interested in the abstract shapes of the shadows than making a portrait per se, and that's true to some extent of nearly all the really good photographs in this book. Unfortunately, the great stuff is watered down by a lot of Hurrell's more average work.

Veronica Lake, photograph by George Hurrell, 1941

There's a lot to say about these photographs: how they played with the stars' image, issues of sexuality and exoticism, vanity; and the influence of Pictorialism, Japonisme, and abstraction in Hurrell's work. But you won't find any of that discussion here. I understand Stine is a film historian and not an art historian (I'm sure there's a HUGE difference), but even a half-assed attempt at addressing these topics would be better than nothing.

This book is a great resource if you're looking for basic information about Hurrell or classic Hollywood movie stars, but for something more in-depth I personally would search elsewhere.

Book Review: MAN RAY IN PARIS by Erin C. Garcia

Some people get all the luck, and no one's a better example of that maxim than Man Ray. An American painter, he hung out with 291 crowd and paid the bills with fashion photography. He met Marcel Duchamp in New York City after the Armory Show and the two quickly became besties. They couldn't talk, since Ray didn't speak French and I guess Duchamp refused to speak English (?); so they communicated through games like chess. Which quite frankly, is ADORKABLE. When Duchamp decided to return to Paris, Man Ray followed, and immediately found the perfect community of artists and intellectuals to hang with. Within a matter of weeks, he had his first gallery showing, was fluent in French, owned the perfect apartment and studio in Montparnasse, invented his own photographic process, and was flooded with commissions for photographic portraits and other projects.


Rrose Selavy, Marcel Duchamp's feminine alter-ego. Photograph by Man Ray, 1921.

So basically Man Ray is pretty kick-ass and interesting. As for this book about him, well, it wasn't what I was expecting. I thought I would get a lot more out of it.

It's super-short and literally took me less than half an hour to read. For someone completely unfamiliar with Man Ray's work, this would be a good introduction, but for everyone else I think it's pretty sparse. It covers a very short biography of Ray, then dives right into his photographs, which are very interesting. But there isn't much information about them. And there's absolutely nothing about his interest in alchemy or how some of his photographs are homages to other paintings, or about the short films he made with the surrealists, or anything really.

It is cool to look at all the different processes Ray experimented with during his years in Paris, especially solarization and Rayographs. But really I think you could find a more informative book just about anywhere.

If you do want to check out Man Ray in Paris, I'd recommend getting it from the library.

I read this book as part of Paris In July, a challenge hosted by Book Bath and Thyme for Tea. Click on the button for more details.

Fun link of the day: l'Etoile de Mer, one of the many movies Man Ray directed in collaboration with the surrealists.

Book Review: GLAMOUR--WOMEN, HISTORY, FEMINISM by Carol Dyhouse

Say the word glamor, and immediately images spring to mind of Hollywood starlets in black and white photographs, wearing furs and gowns of silk and satin, with dark eyes and even more darkly painted lips. But glamour was a Scots word originally meaning magic; and the photographers and cinematographers of early Hollywood intuited the link between the magic of movies and the fashion and lifestyle of their stars so well, that eventually the two became inextricably linked in the American mind. Magazines like Glamor (US) started out selling sewing patterns based on the clothes seen in movies, and quickly moved to presenting the entire Hollywood lifestyle in its pages: fashion, cosmetics, hair, potions and lotions.


Jean Harlow. Photograph by George Hurrell.

As Dyhouse points out in this excellent book, glamor isn't always fashionable, and sometimes is quite unfashionable; but it and the start of beauty consumer culture are inextricably linked. For numerous reasons, but mostly thanks to old-timey Hollywood. Does this quest for beauty and glamor represent female empowerment, or the patriarchy of the male gaze? Are the women who actively participate in it laboring to achieve an unhealthy ideal of feminine perfection? Dyhouse addresses these complex questions through a study of glamor's visual and material culture from the early 1900s to the twenty-first century.


Princess Ira von Furstenberg. Photograph by Cecil Beaton.

Although I focused on American glamor in the paragraph above, the majority of this book discusses British glamour. While both countries were influenced by Hollywood, in the UK glamour was regarded with more suspicion than in the US. The upper-classes had a long tradition of favoring reserve and conservatism in fashion, and the middle- and lower-classes likewise were partial to dressing with respectability and modesty (this explains so much about British fashion). Glamour was seen as lurid, the stuff of pin-up girls and pulpy romance magazines, and the complete opposite of English respectability--though luxurious and attractive, nonetheless. Think of the film Rebecca--British in all but its producer--and how the elusive title character is seen as a glamorous, ideal woman by the insecure and young protagonist. "I wish I were a woman of 36, dressed in black satin with a string of pearls!" she says at one point. But by the end of the film, Rebecca's glamor and beauty are revealed to contain only a heart of stone and the morals of an alley cat.


Judy Garland. Photograph by George Hurrell.

In fact, it's surprising how unorthodox and non-conformist glamor's consistently been portrayed in the last century. In the '50s and '40s, it was associated with open--one might even say aggressive--sexuality; in the '60s, the decade of youth culture, it was seen as middle-aged; in the '80s, nostalgic. It's always been associated with beauty and fashion, but is much more abstract than either, and therefore can be more broadly applied. Whereas concepts of the former often exclude minorities and lead to "white washing," glamour tends to apply to women of all national and ethnic associations. It also seems to go hand-in-hand with feminism, although this is a problematic relationship--Dyhouse describes one Suffragette who wanted women to be less focused on their looks, but believed that in gaining legal and social autonomy they had become more so. There are also many modern feminist scholars who think glamor debases women.


Marilyn Monroe. Photograph by Cecil Beaton.

This study as a whole is really fascinating and well-written. Dyhouse takes a complex subject and analyzes it in a very clear, logical tone. Although it is super-repetitive, I didn't really get bored, possibly because the subject itself is so interesting and very pertinent to women today. How important should beauty and conforming to society's definition of an ideal woman be? This is something every woman must struggle with on a daily basis, as we grow up and as we get older. Dyhouse, however, concludes that whatever body or identity issues women have, glamor is not to blame. It is, first and foremost, about aspiration. Luxury, escape, and perfection can all exist within the enchantment of glamor, something many working-class women appreciate. It's all a temporary illusion, but an illusion that allows a woman to manipulate the world so that it sees her as she wants to be seen. In the end, glamor--even of the pedestrian cosmetic type--is still a kind of magic.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the subject of 20th century visual culture or women's history! Thanks to Inbooks, Zed Books, and Three Pipe Problem for sending me a copy to review.


Musical Notes: "Which?" by Jeri Southern

Book Review: THE RUINS OF DETROIT by Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre

I have never been to Detroit, but of course there are things I associate with it--mainly Motown and cars. After reading this book, however, it will be difficult for me not hear the word Detroit and think of the crumbling ruins of capitalism and industrialization.

I first heard about this book from Natasha at 1330v. It's a photographic essay of a wide variety of abandoned buildings in the Detroit area in various stages of decay. Meffre and Marchand began photographing urban ruins in Paris, but with Detroit they hit a gold mine. This is more than just the few rotted-out buildings here and there that exist in every city; these are entire neighborhoods, abandoned as if the occupants just suddenly got up and left, with only the detritus of human existence--clothes, papers, books, toys--to acknowledge that these spaces were once occupied. It's like something straight out of I Am Legend.


The abandoned Michigan Station serves as the cover for the book.

The book is more than just pictures, though, it's the history of Detroit from its beginnings as a French fur trapper rendezvous, to its peak as the machining capital of the US, and the decline that began with white families moving to the suburbs, essentially strangling the city center. In the 1980s businesses began to leave Detroit and the ruins of today took shape; but the ruins themselves aren't confined to the city center or businesses--they include the older neighborhoods and suburbs of Detroit, as well. The place where the industry for which Detroit became known, cars, began in Highland Park, where Ford started his first assembly line and Woodward Avenue became the very first paved mile. Today Highland Park is more a ghost town than not, with some houses literally taken over by trees, and no city services. The photographs of the Highland Park police station, completely abandoned, show the floors littered with files of murder victims and evidence of the man who killed them--some of the creepiest photographs in a book full of eerie and creepy shots. As Meffre and Marchand put it, "Everything began and everything seems to be ending in [Highland Park]."

The photographs themselves are, on one level, very beautiful--the framing and color is so intriguing, capturing the texture and romance of something that many would probably consider an eyesore. But there's also a sadness to them, especially coming in the wake of recent financial troubles all over the world. One can't help but finish this book and wonder, Is the American dream dead?

As someone who lives in Colorado, I've seen my share of ghost towns. But those are little mining shacks out in the middle of nowhere, relatively small boom towns completely stripped of clues as to what its inhabitants were like. Detroit is an entire city, with paved roads and beautiful architecture, that hosted a lot of big dreams, most of which (judging by these photos) have literally gone to seed. Residents of US are so rarely confronted with signs that civilizations don't last forever, but one can't help but consider as one reads through this book that this this what all our cities are going to come to eventually.

This is not a happy book. You will not feel optimistic about the future of America after reading it. But it is an excellent book, one that will stick with you, and one I highly recommend.

Note: I made the book trailer, above, for my own amusement.

Book Review: FLIRTING WITH FOREVER by Gwen Cready

Proposed alternate titles: Bumbling into Bernini, A Lay with Lely



Cameron is trying to get a book about Van Dyke published (because god knows the world needs another one of those) so she can become the director of a museum. Problem: her publisher wants her to "sex it up." But how to come up with these gossipy stories about Van Dyke? Answer: make them up! And also: travel back in time and sleep with another painter who met Van Dyke twice!

I know what you're thinking right now. You're thinking, "That doesn't make sense." You are correct. Why didn't Cameron sleep with Van Dyke? It just worked out that way. She was sent to sleep with the time period of Peter Lely, the official English court painter after Van Dyke. And she and Lely have awesome sex and then she comes back to the present--how I don't know--yet still insists on writing a biography of Van Dyke; then Peter travels to the present and becomes a modern artist. And that's just the first half! I would expand on the plot some more, but trust me when I say it's not worth it.

Despite the nonsensical plot--I mean, it's a time travel romance, so what do you expect?--my two main problems with this book were Cameron and the writing. Cameron was the dumbest heroine I've encountered in a long-ass time. Her idea of original research is doing a book search on Amazon. To fact-check herself, she goes to wikipedia. When she realizes she's going to have to back up her "research" with documents, she instead just decides to say it's all made up! And her version of art appreciation is any painting that makes her wet. I am not kidding. Honestly, the idea that a person like this would ever be a curator at a major museum, let alone the director of it, is galling. And if she's an academic, I'm Happy Pants McGee.

Furthermore, don't EVEN get me started on the writing. Oh lordy! There were moments when I was just like, "WTF please stop!!! My eyes, they are bleeding!" Basically any attempt by the author to describe a piece of art was hi-lariously awful. But beyond that (art descriptions are usually pretty painful, anyway, so I just skim over them), there were times when this book did not make sense because it was trying way too hard to be poetic. For example, Peter is described thusly: "The gentlest crurve of cheek hung by the corners of his mouth, a signal of middle-age in an artist unafraid of such trivialities." LOLwat? His cheek was hanging off his face? That sounds a little more than trivial. At one point Cameron's thighs were described as amorphous white blobs and her nipples like bas-relief sculpture. NEED I GO ON???

All that being said, I did finish the book, and in one day (there's no way I would have spent more than a day on it). I think it comes down to the fact that this is every art historian's dream! Honestly, do you know how many times I've imagined what it would be like to meet Giorgio de Chirico or Manet in person? Too many times. And Cameron actually gets to do it--of course, the opportunity is wasted on her because she's a dumbass, but whatever.

Another thing I liked about this book was Peter Lely. He was a great character and really the only thing that kept me reading. His regret over and struggle to right past wrongs in his life made him the most believable and sympathetic person in a book filled with shallow, selfish idiots. Another character I liked was Jeanne, Cameron's assistant, because she used her brain instead of her vagina to make decisions. Hooray for non-crotch-based decision making!

So, right. Why did I read this? I don't even know anymore. It was a train wreck, but of the fun escapist kind. Even if it drove me bat-shit crazy.

Musical Notes: "Breakin' Up" by Rilo Kiley

The Better to Hold You With: About KRAKEN: THE CURIOUS, EXCITING, AND SLIGHTLY DISTURBING SCIENCE OF SQUID by Wendy Williams

Note: This post contains some images which may be NSFW (yay, my first NSFW post!).

A not-so-secret: I love squids. OMG, love! They are my favorite animals. There are so many cool things about squids: they're super-intelligent, for one, and there lots of different kinds, and they're very mysterious.

ANYwayyyy, that's why I leaped upon Kraken when I saw it offered for review. I was blissfully excited about learning more about squid. However, for some completely illogical reason, I thought it was going to be about the cultural history of squid as opposed to the sciency stuff (which is pretty silly considering the word "science" is right there in the title). Not that the science of squid can't be interesting, I just don't want to read a whole book about it.

One of the more fascinating themes in the book--though I'm not sure it's intentional--is how squid are often reviled and hated by humans. In the introduction, Williams describes the first deep-sea exploration vehicle, built in the 1930s by William Beebe and Otis Barton. Using this submersible, they were able to see a vampire squid--so-called not because it drinks blood (it feeds off plankton), but because of its red skin and eyes--in the wild. Beebe said it was, "very small but terrible," with "sinister arms."


Vampire squid comin to get ya

But the vampire squid isn't disgusting; it's cool! It's a squid and an octopus in one! Its huge blue eyes can turn bright red in an instant, no one knows why. And if a predator is chasing it, it chews off one of its little feet and the bio-luminescent lights that covers it lures the predator away.

(Actually, now that I think about it, the vampire squid is kind of like an underwater Cullen, isn't it? Sparkly, blood red eyes...)

I found that part really interesting. But Williams quickly moves on from there to devote most of the rest of the book to modern-day scientific discoveries. To be honest I 1. don't really care about the sciencey talk, especially when I feel like I'm rereading my middle school biology textbook; and 2. get a little touchy when it comes to scientific experiments on my favorite animals. Why can't you bastards just leave the squid alone???? WHY.

See, if I was writing this book, I might have looked at the long history of human revulsion for and fear of squid, and speculated on its causes. Is it because squid are as smart as humans? Because they don't have skeletons?


Octopus stirrup jar, Mycenaean, c. 1200 BC (in The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

One might also theorize that cephalopods represent a certain femininity that frightens the bejeezus out of men in patriarchal societies. Hence sailors' fears of a giant squid attacking them, and Beebe's antagonism toward them. Even if octopi don't represent femininity, they definitely seem to be associated with female sexuality.


Katsushika Hokusai, Dream of the Fisherman's Wife, c. 1820

When a portfolio of Katsushika Hokusai's prints, featuring erotic scenes with female divers and octopi, arrived in Paris, it became enormously popular in certain circles (as one can imagine) and influenced artists like Picasso, Rops, and Rodin to create similar images. A recent Picasso exhibition had an entire room that was grouped under the theme of "tentacles."


Picasso sketch, not sure of date or title.

It would be a mistake, though, to say our illogical fears of squid belong solely in the past. Williams actually demonstrates this effectively with her stories of contemporary research into cephalopods. Popular culture reflects this as well--there's a pest control commercial that likens octopi to roaches; and let's not forget the ever-popular Cthulhu or Ursula, the baddy bad woman from The Little Mermaid.

So that's what I felt was really missing from this book--I wanted more history and less science, because that's what I'm interested in. Kraken is still worth a peek if you like squid, of course; but it didn't rock my world with its awesomeness and I think overall probably has a limited audience.

Book Review: KILLER STUFF AND TONS OF MONEY by Maureen Stanton

Confession: I've never been to a flea market. Or an antiques show or a garage sale. I've never even watched Antiques Roadshow. My grandmother hates "old stuff," and my mom doesn't want "other people's junk." I didn't even realize average people (i.e., not museums or historic houses) bought old furniture until I was, like, twenty, and that was only because I started watching Martha Stewart. So why did I decide to read this book? I'm not sure... but I'm really, really glad I did.

Killer Stuff and Tons of Money is about the sub-culture of the American antiquities trade, from open-air markets like Brimfield to high-end indoor shows such as Boston Antiques Weekend; from eBay to Antiques Roadshow. There's even a chapter on antique forgers. The hero of the tale is Curt Avery, a mid-range dealer with an amazing amount of knowledge who works his ass off hauling thousands of dollars worth of antiques in his truck from show to show.

The name of the antiques game is caveat emptor: buyer beware. As long as you're a knowledgeable dealer, like Avery, you know what's valuable and what isn't; what's fake and what's rare. Knowledgeable dealers feed off of those who don't know what they're selling, turning what seemed like junk into treasure. The problem is, no one can know everything, and what people want to collect is always changing. Even the best dealers might come across a piece that they know is old, but they don't know how old or how valuable. Furthermore, as Avery explains in the book, by the time you've educated yourself on what the public wants to buy--weather vanes, for example--the taste has already shifted and all that knowledge (and inventory) is pretty much worthless.

I had a history professor once who told us, "Americans LOVE their stuff," and behind every dealer in this book--even the forgers--is a fascination with and love for American stuff. Stanton demonstrates how the entire evolution of our culture can be found in these material goods, from the tines of a fork to a stitching sample. It seems poetic, then, that the trade in these objects is even more a reflection of our culture--as Stanton puts it, "This is capitalism down and dirty." Dealers take advantage of buyers, sellers, and even each other, netting possibly thousands of dollars in profit off of other people's ignorance. At the same time, they could lose thousands if they fail to recognize the value of an object. Most of the dealers Stanton interviews in the book confess to feeling bad about taking advantage of other people this way, but as one man put it, "These pieces are there for the taking. If I don't take them, someone else will." In the antiquities trade, you can sense a similar economic philosophy to that of Goldman & Sachs or Gordon Gekko. At least Avery and the other dealers in the book are ennobled by their honest appreciation of these objects as pieces of history.

It's very rare that I pick up a non-fiction book and read it cover-to-cover, but with this one I did. Stanton's writing is so clear, and the story she tells so fascinating, that I was thoroughly entertained even while I was learning about this culture of antiques. This book was so good, and goes much deeper than just antiques: in the story of Avery and his pursuit of that one big ticket item, the find of a lifetime, I could hear echoes of Moby Dick, The Maltese Falcon, and the ending of The Great Gatsby. He's haunted by the idea that "the one" might have slipped through his fingers for a few hundred dollars. And even if he did find "the one," would he be able to call it quits and give up the gamble of the antiques trade? Probably not.

This is one of those books that I want everyone to read. If you have any interest at all in history or objects, I highly recommend it.

BOOK ARTS: Su Blackwell

I like doing projects in the summer, and this summer I decided it would be fun to do a series of posts about artists who use books in their work. I can't think of a better artist to start off with than Su Blackwell.


Su Blackwell, Little Red Riding Hood, 2010

Blackwell's delicate book sculptures are the perfect metaphor for the tales they represent, offering a visual correlation between the potential magic and secrets that might be found in every book.

Blackwell says she grew up playing in the woods, where she would pretend the trees and birds were her friends. Her art projects reflect this childhood reliance on nature, but also contain a very grown-up sense of isolation and danger. In Little Red Riding Hood, for example, Red's being lost in the trees seems almost more threatening than the shadow of the wolf with in them--possibly because he's turned away from her.


[left] The Quiet American, 2005
[right] Mr. Brontë's Bedroom. Part of "Remnants" installation at the Brontë Parsonage Museum, Haworth, 2010

Blackwell's work also deals with themes of transition and transformation, from one world or form into another. This was evident in her first book sculpture, The Quiet American, which she created after her father passed away: she cut moth forms out of a book she bought in Thailand, referencing a Chinese legend about two lovers who are reunited after their deaths. Mr. Brontë's Bedroom, an installation created several years later, similarly has moths (or butterflies?) emerging from a pillow empty of everything but the impression of an absent body, suggesting the ghost of Mr. Brontë passing from one world into the next. The Secret Garden, meanwhile, is a book Blackwell has reinterpreted in her art several times, always focusing on the door between the enchanted garden and the other world.


[left] The Secret Garden, Finding the Door, 2007
[right] The Secret Garden, 2006

Blackwell's book sculptures remind me of one of my favorite artists, Remedios Varo, in that they are very narrative and fantastical, and balance the comfort of childhood with the psychological fears of adults.

If you want to learn more about Su Blackwell, watch the video at the beginning of this post or check out her website, which has a lot more images of her work: www.sublackwell.co.uk

book arts, su blackwell

Powered by ScribeFire.

The Future of Books?

I saw this video on YouTube one day while searching for things to do with old books. It's about artist Brian Dettmer and his use of books in sculptures. Aside from the cool art pieces, wherein he glues books closed and then carves into them to create a relief, Dettmer has some interesting ideas about the role of books in society now that supposedly everything is becoming digitized.


Dettmer, The War on All Fronts (detail), 2010.

There's always been a difference between a book's content and the book itself as an object--don't judge a book by its cover and all that. Don Quixote reads the same in paperback format as it does in a fancy leather-bound hardback, but the hardback is invariably valued higher. Now that there are digital books, however, the same could be said for all paper-bound books: they're now objects distinctly separate from their content.

Another thing Dettmer says that's interesting is that with books, once they're sold, the creators of the book--from the author to the cover designer--have little to no control over what the purchaser does with it. The same isn't true for eBooks, where they can edit the file even after you purchase it, revoke the license, and dictate what format you read it in. In some sense, publishers own eBooks more thoroughly than they do bound books, which may or may not be a good thing.

What do you think about Dettmer's vision of the future of books? Are bound books destined to become valued more for their materials than their words?

brian dettmer, book art, art

Powered by ScribeFire.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK by Francois Truffaut

François Truffaut talks to Alfred Hitchcock with the help of translator, Helen G. Scott.

In 1962, François Truffaut sat down with Alfred Hitchcock for hours upon hours to discuss Hitchcock's entire oeuvre. Truffaut was a filmmaker himself, and a total Hitchcock fanboy. The tapes where edited and broadcast on French radio (you can listen to them here), and turned into this book. Truffaut's interview with Hitchcock is now one of the most cited sources in books about Hitchcock, and for good reason: the director is astonishingly blunt and honest about his process and philosophy of filmmaking.

I ordered this book at the library because I was doing a paper on Hitchcock, but having difficulty finding the sorts of books and articles I needed. The lovely Colette from A Buckeye Girl Reads helped me out by tweeting for suggestions, and a few people recommended this. I'm very glad they did because it's not only a good resource, but a great read!

You wouldn't expect a book that's really a giant interview to be interesting, but Hitchcock is. For one thing, Hitchcock and Truffaut aren't just conducting an interview, but having a conversation about the nature of film and directing (you get an even greater sense of this in the tapes). At one point, Hitchcock asks Truffaut, "What's your opinion?" One gets the idea that Hitchcock is as open as he is because he respects Truffaut as a director.

Another thing that makes this book great is of course Hitchcock himself. I have to say, I was surprised by how inspirational I found this book to be as a whole. I don't think anyone would argue today that Hitchcock was a great artist, but that doesn't mean he started out as a film genius or never made mistakes, and he's completely up-front about admitting that. The important thing was he kept going--he kept making films, he kept trying new things, or going back to old methods when the new ones didn't work. I have great respect for Hitchcock after reading this book, not just as a director but as a creative person who could at any time have been defeated by self-doubt.

One of the things I found really interesting was what Hitchcock says about critics--not just because this a book blog that reviews books, but because Truffaut was himself a critic before he became a director, and he was realllly critical. He was so harsh, in fact, that he was banned from the Cannes Film Festival! Yet as soon as the subject of critics comes up, both Hitchcock and Truffaut start dumping on them. Here's an good bit (which I edited to make more good):

TRUFFAUT     It's sometimes said that a critic, by the very nature of his work, is unimaginative, and in a way, that makes sense, since imagination may be a deterrent to his objectivity. Anyway, that lack of imagination might account for a predilection for films that are close to real life....

HITCHCOCK     By the way, since we're being so critical of the critics, what line were you in when we met for the first time?

TRUFFAUT     I was a film critic. What else?

HITCHCOCK     I thought so.

Some magazines deliberately select critics who don't care about films, but are able to write about them in a condescending way that will amuse the readers. There's an American expression; when something's no good, they say, "It's for the birds!" So I pretty much knew what to expect when The Birds opened.

Basically, Truffaut and Hitchcock's frustration with critics stems from the fact that they approach movies not as a entertainment, but as a subject for their own ideas. I couldn't help but wonder if the same is true of my own reviews... I might as well admit that it is, although I don't make any of the claims to objectivity that Truffaut suggests.

But then I started thinking about this in regards to book blogs: bloggers review books (for the most part) because they love them and want to write about them, not because someone hired them to write and they may or may not like movies books. So does that make blog reviews different from print reviews?

I don't think so. It might seem ironic, particularly considering my current major, but I think a great work of art stands on its own no matter what people write about it. Yes, reviews and essays can enhance a person's understanding of it, or promote it, but ultimately the only thing that matters is the work of art itself, whether it's a painting or a movie or a book.

In any case, there's a lot of great ideas in this book and interesting conversation, and I'd recommend it for anyone interested in film.

Powered by ScribeFire.

HIDE: Skin As Material and Metaphor, edited by Kathleen Ash-Milby

Hide: Skin as Material and Metaphor is an exhibition catalog for a show of the same title that was presented at the National Museum of the American Indian and curated by Kathleen Ash-Milby. The theme of the exhibition is intriguing, offering possibilities of discussion about race, seeing, and Native traditions. However, the catalog’s essays are largely superficial, leaving one with the impression that there’s not much meaning beyond what is “skin deep” in the artwork.

The catalog’s problems really start with the design. While the Brian Jungen catalog was just this side of overdesigned, Hide crosses the line, being designed to the point of utter distraction. I spent more time running my hands over the faux-suede cover with the impression of rivets, looking at the pictures, and staring at the thick, satiny paper than I did actually reading the words printed on it. I think it was the paper that really pushed the book design over the edge, but the cover was a close second. It’s like the publishing version of rococo: frivolous, pleasurable, and the type of thing for which the phrase “don’t judge a book by its cover” was coined. There are also inserts, which are a personal pet peeve of mine and have been ever since they appeared in textbooks. I hate them. As if breaking off from the main text to read footnotes isn’t bad enough, now I have to stop to read inserts? No thank you. To add insult, these inserts weren’t even vaguely interesting. It’s clear the NMAI put a lot of time and energy into this catalog design and printing; now if only the graphic design department had also written the essays, this book would be full of win. Shiny, sparkly win.


An example of the inside of the catalog.

The actual content is chock-full of introductions. There’s the director’s introduction, the introduction introduction by John Haworth, and the curator’s introduction, which is the first chapter. There’s also an introduction to the photography section of the exhibit, by Jolene Rickard.  All these introductions do what introductions do: cover the subject with broad strokes and attempt to give an overall view of what the show is about. Ash-Milby’s introduction does a fair job of this, although there are some rather sweeping statements littered throughout, and I still don’t understand why some work was included. Ash-Milby tries to contextualize the exhibition by comparing it to other shows such as Bodies Revealed (a less ethical version of Body Worlds). I’m not sure this comparison is justified or useful; in fact, I’m fairly sure it isn’t the latter. Essentially, the Bodies shows are scientific vaudeville; Hide is--or is supposed to be--about contemporary art, which hopefully goes a little deeper than Bodies turned outside-out.


Terrence Houle, Metrosexual Indian, 2005

Rickard does a better job of contextualizing the exhibit, revealing that it derives from a previous show titled Only Skin Deep that was about the history of race representation. That show was all about photography, which is probably why Rickard mentioned it and Ash-Milby didn’t; still, it would have been nice to know this from the beginning. Also, one gets the impression photography was included in this exhibit only because of the show's roots, since it seems they had trouble finding photographic work that fit into the theme. I really like Terrence Houle’s photographs and do think they fit, but he feels marginalized in the catalog. Favell’s work is just boring, and I have no idea what Sara Sense has to do with the concept of Hide.

The cumulative effect of all these intros is to create a catalog that seems very shallow, and the rest of the essays don’t do very much to invalidate that impression. The only chapter I really liked in the whole book was Richard William Hill’s “After Authenticity: A Post-Mortem on the Radicalized Indian Body.” Hill takes on the issue of blood-quantum and -memory in the American Indian community, and how, though it’s defined by racist European values, has because almost self-sustaining. He also tackles the subjects of hybridity and authenticity, which are very important issues in contemporary American Indian art. Racism is a heavy subject, and perhaps Hill could have written about it a little more fully and sensitively, but I’m happy he did write about it and brought up the issue. That being said, this chapter could have just as easily been in any other catalog or book and had the same impact, possibly even more, so I'm not sure why it's included here.

Despite Hill’s essay, I didn’t like this book at all and think it has next to no value as a piece of scholarship. I don’t know what the exhibition Hide was like, never having seen it; but based on the catalog I would have to assume it was a shallow mix of great work and uninteresting work pastiched together but not really in conversation with one another. I hope next time the NMAI puts more thought into their catalog’s words and less thought into its cover.

Powered by ScribeFire.

The Salon Strikes Again?

Paul Gauguin, Two Tahitian Women, 1899

A few weeks ago, I reviewed The Salon by Nick Bertozzi, a graphic novel about a group of artists and cognoscenti--including Picasso, Apollinaire, Georges Braque, Gertrude Stein, and Erik Satie--who drink a special absinthe that allows them to enter paintings. The absinthe was discovered by the deceased Paul Gauguin, whose 14-year-old Tahitian mistress is using the absinthe to come out of his paintings and kill artists and collectors. The plot may sound silly and far-fetched, but was something I found to be powerfully metaphorical. As I argued in my review, Gauguin's mistress is wreaking vengeance against the Parisian art world and their sexual and colonial objectification of her, which led to her becoming a junkie whore and dying. The fear of their subjects coming back to haunt them as Anna did leads Picasso and Braque to create cubism, which effectively relegates objects to a two-dimensional surface.

Strange Concurrence

So imagine my reaction when I read this report (via the Washington Post) about a woman who attacked Gauguin's Two Tahitian Women at the National Gallery last week, screaming, "This is evil!"

Lack of Evidence

The Washington Post article implies the woman attacked the painting because of the figures' semi-nudity, but I have my doubts. After all, this is hardly the only work of art in the museum that depicts nude people. Why not attack something closer to the entrance? Secondly, why haven't we been told the woman's name? Very suspicious. Even court records have not been made available. Might it be because she's a member of The Salon????!?!?

An Associated Press article reports the woman, "told police the post-Impressionist artist was evil and the painting should be burned," the exact method Salon members used to destroy Gauguin's paintings in Bertozzi's novel ! ! ! !

Expert Opinion

Memory, who blogs at Stella Matutina and reviewed The Salon said of the book, "Me, I think it’s real, but alternate interpretations are certainly possible." When questioned about the Two Tahitian Women assault, she declared the attackeress was, "clearly a Salon member. Or at least someone who's read and been unduly influenced by the book."

I have to say, after reading the book, I can see how it might convince someone to link Gauguin's paintings with evil. Do we need to ban Bertozzi's dangerous vision of modern art in order to protect Gauguin's work? Or do we need to ban Gauguin's art to protect ourselves???? Unfortunately, I think the cat's out of the bag as far as Gauguin's paintings are concerned, so the mysterious woman's attack was essentially pointless.

Powered by ScribeFire.