another kind of collage

words and pictures often merge
but this is a different take on it
i've been told (via an essay by al alvarez) jean rhys used to write her intense, evocative novels in bits - sentences, phrases, fragments on small pieces of paper. she would put these together in a bag, and would carry this with her. and then she would arrange these pieces into her story. not a random assemblage, but a carefully pieced together mindmap
a wonderful way of working, an evocative construction of a creative mind
new words, new everything (essay)

trying to find this information, i searched "bits" "paper" "bag" and found this from a blog, smallest forest
Besides looking quirky on the wall, I can throw all those bits of paper that turn up during the month into the bag—where they’ll stay put until I can sort them out.

another interesting idea - i like it.

schadenFreud

people can be nasty

thinking "better you than me", and taking it one step further, the full schadenfreude experience

but what about taking your joy from your own miseries and disasters? another shade of schadenfreude or is this a whole new kettle of fish?

i found a site, spiritual pub (how could that be bad?) with a nice article about ways to quit the habit of complaining - all about accepting yourself, losing your ego and getting some serious empathy and compassion

da da da

for years now i've been sticking images in books

not so much collage as layout

while it gets my creative juices flowing, there's a bit of a disconnect with anything intellectual or visceral

i've seen some collage instances recently which have inspired me to stick outside my square

from happiness etc

preparatory images, horses galloping, by katherine bowman

revisiting dada photomontage,

revisiting dada photomontage,

revisiting dada photomontage,

revisiting dada photomontage,

revisiting dada photomontage

revisiting dada photomontage

revisiting dada photomontage

revisiting dada photomontage,

revisiting dada photomontage,

revisiting dada photomontage,

john heartfield, whoever reads, 1930

max ernst, crazily amusingly titled, The Gramineous Bicycle Garnished with Bells the Dappled Fire Damps and the Echinoderms Bending the Spine to Look for Caresses, 1921
oh max, you've done it again!

and finally, anarchic re-interpretation of collage, surely this counts???

i knew i liked sofia coppola!! (and her office)

soft target

last night, my mind wandered
i was thinking about exploring life's edges, and i imagined rolling a lolly, a humbug, a bulls-eye, around in my mouth
feeling its edges










from there i remembered the bull's eye slit in un chien andalou
a horrible scene i've never let myself watch
and so my thought went to bull's eyes, targets




















and i thought about the pop art work "soft target", a target falling dripping like one of dali's clocks
but i made it up
i'd conflated jasper johns (target) + claus oldenberg (toilet) to create something that never was











no soft targets!

spot on

John Baldessari
National City (w,1,2,3,4,5,6,B) Details - 2 and 3 (1996-2009)
Courtesy 2009 John Baldessari Studio © John Baldessari
Colour photographs with acrylic paint
46x46cm
it must be said, i'm no huge fan of baldessari
i'm fairly unmoved by his work (although i enjoyed a recent article in tate etc)
last week, something reminded me of his work. either i saw a picture (a donkey?) with something obscuring its face, or for some reason i imagined putting a coloured dot or balloon over a picture (probably a donkey) in a gesture to baldessari. who knows?

this is not the picture. it is merely an approximation of the picture (possibly a donkey)

a little quote from a frieze article about baldessari's No Face/Faces phase
There was a period when he blocked out the faces on the photographs he used as source material so that attention could be paid to other areas of the picture. This sounds similar to his procedure in life drawing class of draping fabric over the models’ heads so students would focus on other parts of the body. After a decade of blocking, faces were allowed back, but not entirely.

a huge balloon made up of baldessari like blobs of colour,
blocking out itself
how self-reflexive of the brain
bits missing, bits replaced
John Baldessari
Repair/Retouch Series: An Allegory About Wholeness (Plate and Man with Crutches) 1976
Courtesy 2009 John Baldessari Studio © John Baldessari
Four black-and-white photographs, mounted on board
38.1x61cm

contrary

when i was a kid, i had a fair amount of contempt for the mary, mary of quite contrary fame

i don't think i knew what contrary meant

the rhyme, with its "silver bells, cockle shells" made me think of prissy girls and shell-encrusted jewellery boxes

speaking of shell-encrusted
here is a slightly better take on shell-art by artist esme timbery

i saw two of her wors at the mca gallery in sydney

one was a sydney harbour bridge, not unlike this one

the other was truly beautiful, a sailing ship - i haven't been able to find any images of it

there was a shell-encrusted house around the corner from where i lived about 10 years ago, a view of the bay of naples painted under the eaves, and cement-stuck shells on the walls. beautiful in an art brut kind of way

which brings me back to mary and her contrary garden, with its silver bells and cockle shells

the other day i realised it suddenly reminded me of derek jarman's famous garden in dungeness
the joy of junk and found objects

i like the idea of surprises in a garden jarman produced a place of wonder from the shale and driftwood, iron and flotsam

it is an inspiring place in an otherwise desolate landscape

a garden nearby has taken a rusty leaf from jarman's book, and produced something similiar

what i realised, is that ole contrary mary is an inventive thinker, an independent mind,

not be bloody-minded as ready to follow her own heart, mind and spirit

frankly cockle shells and silver bells in a garden is a wonderful idea

it is something rare and special to have an eye for beauty

here are some rare and beautiful things found in another garden of wonder and surprises

roald dahl's take on it

roald dahl's take on it,

Mary, Mary, quite contrary

How does your garden grow?

"I live with my brat in a high-rise flat

so how in the world would I know."

silly mary, not to take pleasure in the ordinary things...

what greener city thumbs in the city get up to...

oh, a beautiful blog all about balcony gardens,

another about nyc roof gardens

and an indoor tree solution for those of us who can't grow & nurture nature

indiscreet charm of the bourgeoisie

louise bourgeois died today

the guardian obituary ended with a quote from an exhibition of recent works,

My memories are moth eaten….

and thus it becomes an apt epitaph for an ancient artist

but the quote continues,

I have taken my memories into my arms and have soothed them.
Nothing to Remember, 2004 – 2006

and suddenly the quote is more visceral, more louise bourgeois

other works in the same exhibition ballyhoo her indiscreet power,

they are wonderful,

heavy and light

deft and profound

"bourgeois made great work and bad work"

(as that same guardian obituary notes) "she didn't care to choose", to discriminate

She even published her insomniac bedside drawings. (in 2 volumes, 741.944 BOUR )

and why not?

somehow it's hard to think she censored herself,

she was messy and alive and busy, and i can't think of a better description of life

lyre lyre, pants on fire

John William Lewin (1770–1819)
Lyrebird of Australia Maenura superba c.1810

Rex Nan Kivell Collection

National Library of Australia

T3234 NK3820

my dad told me a story, apocryphal no doubt, about a polish immigrant working in the high plains of victoria. as he went about his business, this pole would swear mightily in his native tongue.
when he left the area, his swearing continued.
a local lyrebird now able to swear in perfect, fluent polish.
lyrebirds are nature's mimcs.
i think i'm not far behind.
when i was growing up, i was always, steadily 5 years behind my sister.

what she did, i'd try to copy.
she would draw princesses, i would draw princesses.
she would write stories, i would write stories.
it probably drove her crazy. and i could never quite catch up.
i think it's about time i struck out on my own.

tangential thought:

one late night (live) (includes audio!), i heard an interview with psychoanalyst salman akhtar. he is a wonderful thinker. asked how an indian poet, who publishes in english and urdu, came to work as a psychoanalyst in the usa.

salman told the rather wonderful story about how his father was a famous poet, and he'd often be pointed out as being his father's son, but that one time he went to a party and was pointed out as being the brother of a bollywood director, and that made him think, oh no! that's enough of that!

and changed his life, and struck out on his own.

he was in melbourne for the 2010 freud conferencing, talking about "the role animals, things, space, time and God have in the formation of personality". how lovely!