Good weekend, everyone. Wherever you may be.




:holga on trunkt

for those who wait

Yevgeny Yevtushenko is perhaps the best-known poet of post-Stalinist Russia. "The Third Snow" was written in 1953; with its publication, Yevtushenko became a spokesman for the generation of young Russians who came of age in the 50s. Although this poem (like much of Yevtushenko's writing) has obvious political undercurrents, it is deeply personal and specific. It means more to me than I could ever say.


The Third Snow

We watched through the window how the lime trees
darkened in the back of the yard.
We sighed; again it hadn't snowed,
and it was really high time.

And then the snow started toward evening.
Abandoning altitude
it flew where the wind blew it
and wavered with doubt in the air.

Multilayered and fragile,
it was itself embarrassed and confused.
Tenderly we took it in our hands
and wondered: "Where did it go?"



It reassured us: "There will be
a real snowfall here for you.
Don't worry--I'll melt,
don't be upset--I'm on my way . . ."

A new snow came in a week.
Not a snowfall--a deluge,
pounding our eyes like a blizzard,
reeling clamorously at full power.


In its stubborn intransigence
it wanted to win a victory,
so everyone agreed it was good
only for a day or two.

But itself reckoning it was that kind,
it didn't stand its ground and gave up,
and if it didn't melt in your hands
it began to thaw underfoot.


And all the more often with alarm
we stared again at the horizon:
"When will there be the real one?
After all it has to come."

And somehow rising sleepily in the morning,
still knowing nothing,
in astonishment we suddenly stepped
into it through the opened door.

It lay before us deep and pure
with all its soft simplicity.
It was modestly fluffy
and assuredly deep.

It lay on the ground and on the roofs,
stunning everyone with its whiteness,
and was truly magnificent,
and was truly beautiful.

It snowed on in the morning din,
to the drone of cars and horses' snorts,
and didn't melt underfoot,
but only became more compact.

It lay all fresh and shining,
and the city was blinded by it.
It was the one. The real one.
The snow we'd waited for had come.








1953
translated by Albert C. Todd

:dianamuse; olga volchkova, pruzhina flickr

dianamuse feature: leigh wells

During her successful career as a commercial artist in New York and California, Leigh Wells simultaneously created an entirely separate body of personal work "exploring complexity and the unknown in the physical world, human life and culture, with an interest in attempts by science, religion and history to address these issues."

With inspiration as diverse as scientific diagramming, early Chinese ceramics, theoretical physics and extreme religious beliefs, Wells transforms her materials—gouache, acrylic, graphite, collage and found materials—into fascinating and beautiful abstractions of tangled strands, shadow objects and cosmic conglomerations that swirl together to form a dynamic whole.





I've had this grouping of Wells's work waiting in the wings (how's that for an alliterative run?) for some time. I thought to pull them out and put them up after recently spotting a Wells painting at sfgirlbybay—one I'd not seen before. There's something about the combination of contained chaos, underlying calligraphic form, Wells's wit and her judicious use of color and emphatic use of red that makes my heart beat a little faster.




























:leigh wells

:mikael dubois

gosh, ez. thanks.

The ever-gracious and talented Ez at Creature Comforts put together the most wonderful feature: a design+style+art blog links gallery - in graphic form. She created a unique thumbnail button for each individual blog on the list, so you get a snapshot, a taste, a sample -- (well, a thumbnail) -- of what you might expect when you click and visit. (Scroll down the left side of Ez's blog to check out the gallery.)

Ez generously included my blog. There, just above, is the amazing button (lerv!) she designed for me (object may appear larger than it actually is).

Each one of Ez's thumbnail layouts is a little touch of lovely. I'm completely blown away by Ez's initiative and skill--and her spirit of inclusiveness and community. This is an extraordinary effort, brilliantly executed. What a superb treat!




:creature comforts

jeff wall: narrative made visible

Jeff Wall is considered one of the most innovative and influential artists of his generation. Although Wall's medium is photography, he is a conceptual artist whose career began during the 1960s. His work of the past 25 years consists primarily of large-scale, color transparencies mounted in lightboxes, and, since 1995, black and white photographs. Wall's pictures resemble both paintings and film stills, drawing the viewer into highly specific scenes that imply larger narratives.


The Storyteller


After 'Invisible Man' by Ralph Ellison, the Prologue (shown up top), represents a well-known scene from Ellison’s classic novel. It is one of Wall's most literal and satisfying compositions. Wall’s version shows us the cellar room, “warm and full of light," in which Ellison’s narrator lives, complete with its 1,369 lightbulbs. According to Ellison's narrative, the man has been in this forgotten basement since accidentally falling into it during a New York street riot. Wall draws our attention to the novel's protagonist, placing him at the far end of the cellar room with his back turned towards us, as well as to the illegally-connected light bulbs that illuminate the subterranean hideout. Energy and light, stolen from the electric company, illuminate not only the character’s basement dwelling, but also the truth of his existence. He tells us, “Light confirms my reality, gives birth to my form…. Without light I am not only invisible but formless as well; and to be unaware of one’s form is to live a death. I myself, after existing some twenty years, did not become alive until I discovered my invisibility. The truth is the light, and light is the truth."

On creating this scene, Wall told The Guardian, "Writers have it very easy. They have the pleasure of imagining these scenes. Working on that picture, I really learned about what Ellison's 1,369 lightbulbs means. You can only have a few on at a time. I got to know that room as well as the Invisible Man would have, had he existed." Writers, care to comment?




Another tribute entitled A Sudden Gust of Wind (after Hokusai) (just above) transplants the scenery from Hokusai’s woodcut series The 36 Views of Mt. Fuji into the setting of British Columbia. Mt. Fuji is missing, but the figures’ poses and the movement of a stack of papers in the wind make it easy to recognize the famous work Sunshu Ejiri (see below). Though a frozen image, this scene is far from static. This is not one frame in a sequence, but instead, it is a collage of movements and gestures. It is more than a photograph, less than a film, and astonishingly close to historical painting. It is a good example of Wall’s elaborate figurative works, which are hard to categorize, and it is this quality that makes them appear interestingly foreign. These works are not snapshots from life or renditions of organic processes. Instead, they are staged events, in which performers reenact lifelike situations with an exaggerated expressiveness.




Wall’s early passions were painting and art history. His doctoral studies focused on John Heartfield’s photocollages. According to Wall, it was almost by chance that he discovered that photography contained the formal vocabulary he would use to channel his diverse interests. He made his first backlit color transparency in 1977 after riding a bus outside of Barcelona and passing an illuminated sign that had a lasting effect on him.



By employing a technique that at the time was primarily associated with commercial advertising campaigns, Wall instantly entered contemporary terrain. He had found a format that had been mostly unexplored in the context of art and contained formal elements that could attract a consumer’s short attention span.


After 'Spring Snow' by Yukio Mishima


Crossing mediums as Wall does -- photographing literature -- is not often done. As Peter Schjeldahl says, such literary tie-ins are "perhaps the single most despised genre in the lexicon of modern art." Really? This is news to me. I, for one, am utterly and completely fascinated by Wall's work, especially his Invisible Man. I wonder about the practical constraints of photographing more than 1,000 lights; I'm impressed with how lived-in the scene appears. The composition is powerful, full of telling detail. Yet the man himself, illuminated so brilliantly and obsessively, remains - ultimately and heartbreakingly - unseen, unknown.

So, what think you of Wall's work in general? Is staging elaborate photographs of literary narrative equivalent to filming and refilming literature? Do these pictures enhance or detract from the mental images you've already envisioned of these literary scenes? Do you care?

I'd love to know your reactions.




Man in Street


(Perhaps you were fortunate enough to catch Wall's recent exhibitions at either MoMA or SFMoMA. Check out their excellent websites by clicking on the museum names. Also, the Tate Modern has an amazing collection in an online room-by-room format.)

Milk





:images nytimes, sfmoma, moma, tate modern; thanks to my great pal for sending the j. wall postcard that got me thinking about doing this feature post in the first place.

Kind of what it looks like in our home. Actually, the similarity begins and ends with the floor mess.




:rachel jones

museum saturday: let's go met

Get ready, 'cause here we come.

















:dianamuse

Good weekend, everyone. Wherever you may be.




:vincent bourrut

happy 4705 (or 4706)

The rats have it. If you were born in 1900, 1912, 1924, 1936, 1948, 1960, 1972, 1984 or 1996, you are a rat, my friend (no offense), and this is your year. To learn more about your Chinese astrological sign - and to get a heads up on where the road might take you - clicky here.

(I just realized: My Great-Aunt Irene was born in 1900. She'll be 108 this July. Uh huh. That's not a typo. Aunt Irene gets herself to the beauty parlor every week, and she makes sure to nab a couple of chalupas from the Taco Bell drive-thru on the way. These rats are onto something.)




:national geographic

work detail: 2.0

:dianamuse

first tuesday in february

I'm wearing what she's wearing. At least that color. I don't actually own a fancy blue frock (navy, powder, Pacific or otherwise) - or any blue clothing or accessories for that matter. It's a metaphor. You knew that. I'll go vote now.




:mads mogensen

quelle surprise!

I followed a recent comment linky back to the scholarly, stylish, Paris-based Irish expat Passementerie. Upon arrival, what to my wondering eyes should appear? A featurette about MY bloggy. I blinked. Did a double take. But there it was. And is. An unexpected gift of the highest order. (Excuse me. I'm all fahrklempt.) Truly, this is the loveliest of gestures.

Aside from her obvious kindness, Passementerie attracts her far flung readership with narrative like this:

"[I] have just bought myself a slice of pistachio dacquoise to help me along the path to academic brilliance..."

And photos like this (from everyday walks through her Paris neighborhood):




The clincher for me was this take on our fair city:

Perhaps the internationally received image of Manhattan is shiny skyscrapers and big department stores, but when I visit I see none of that - I see a fabulous, dirty, disheveled place with lunatics shouting on street corners and extraordinary cafes, bars and bookshops hidden everywhere.

Passementerie, consider me your newest devotee.








:paris opera house - tercer ojo flickr; paris café - passementerie

it's february: get your red on

:gaby zimmermann

Good weekend, everyone. Wherever you may be.




:julia fullerton-batten

seven by seven

Here's the thing.

P, of what possessed me notoriety and the wittiest writer in all the land, recently invited me to do this seven weird things thing. A few days prior, studio wellspring's Anjie, the loveliest blogger in all the land, had extended a similar invitation. Generally and historically, I have a strong resistance to such forms of nation-...er...online community building. But I'm trying to change my ways; at least some of them. So I'll play. But I draw the line at 'tagging' others to do the same. I just can't. Won't. Can't. Well, maybe. Someday. Here goes.


I sleep best after undergoing general anesthesia. My ear lobes are kind of lobeless. I adore driving in New York City. Preferably in a car with manual transmission. Heavy rainstorms: comforting; strong, whipping winds: terrifying. I've seen Raising Arizona about 117 times. My boxed collections include collections of boxes.


So there's a snapshot of about 47 seconds of my thought process (aka my weird). Welcome to my brain. One other weird thing (the eighth - I know, I'm pushing it) about me is that I seem compelled to add a twist to (read complicate) seemingly straightforward tasks (like coming up with this list, for example). If you do the NY Times crossword, you probably noticed immediately that the words in my list (if physically manipulated) could form a square grid. I flatter myself. If you do the daily JUMBLE, you noticed that immediately. So much for the cleverness of me. Thanks, P and Anjie, for the invite. I had fun.





:image leigh wells.

all you need

Download this and other Valentine's Day images over at Samantha's flickr site. You have her permission. It's free love.




:samantha's flickr