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byKristine Schomaker
A few years ago, my aunt and
uncle read an article in Spin
Magazine about musicians who
play concerts to people all over
the world from the comfort of
their homes. They are able to do
this by creating avatars and
logging into the virtual world of
Second Life. It didnt take long
for my aunt and uncle to join.
Within a couple weeks they
called me up. You have got tocheck out Second Life. We have
met so many artists and
musicians. You will love this
place.
That day I joined Second Life,
created an avatar and started
exploring this vast new world.
Living a Second Life
The Journalism Film:Read All About It!
byMelissa Steel
Newspaper journalism seems to be
having a mid-life crisis. Gone is the
sure strut of its youth, encapsulated
by the newspaper boys call of Extra!
Extra! Read all about it! as the
crowds form around him to devour
the latest gossip and global crises.
Today we are faced with older, but not
necessarily wiser, media outlets.
Flashy websites and a desperate
attempt to master Twitter are the
newspapers equivalent of the middle-
aged man buying the obligatory
Harley Davidson. Perhaps that is why
all the best films about the business
were made long before the advent of
the web, when the profession had a
more stable identity.
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What is The Flaneur Zine?
The Flaneur Zine is a free monthly
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articles and pieces of art that can be
found at The Flaneur. Check it out!
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As part of our series of art blogger
interviews The Flaneur is pleased to
spend some time with Ortaku, a
street artist from Romania .
What is the address of your blog?
http://un-otak.blogspot.com/
Which country are you based in?
Romania
How long have you been blogging?
On Blogger since June 2008
How often do you post updates?
It depends on my activity. Recently I
tried to post daily. Some months ago
weekly Italwaysvaries. I only postwhat I draw so
Do you have a niche or do you
cover all of the arts?
I have a niche urban-art stencil
How did it all start? Why do you doit?!
I started with graffiti 10 years ago
and I always take a photo of what I
do and I had to post it somewhere. I
tried a lot of platforms before this
blog www.fotolog.com, deviantart
Do you also use social media?
Yes, Facebook
What have you discovered about
the art world since you started
blogging?I do not surf other blogs.
Are you an artist as well? How
does blogging complement your
practice?
Yes I am an artist and I only post on
the blog what I do. Since I paint
indoors and most of what I do ends
up in thestash somewhere, the onlyplace where someone can enjoy it is
on the blog.
Which artists do you admire?
There are few artists I admire
mostly friends from the same niche .
I am quite anarcissist.How do you choose the topics for
your posts?
It is the same topic always.
Do you write the blog entirely
yourself or do you have guest
posters?
Only myself.
Do you post mainly images or
text?
Images. I try to put also some
text.
How important do you think
independent blogs are?
Not too important.
Do you run advertising?
No.
Do you make any money from the
blog?
No.
Do you think readers value blogs
enough?
No.
Do you encourage interaction and
comments?
I would like to.
What computer set up do you have
for blogging? Do you blog on the
move?
Only from my computer.
What are your aims for your blog?
Advertise my art.
What blogs do you read?I search for photos on fffound and
similar sites.
Thank you
very much for your time.
Art blogger interview: Cristea Cornel
Do you blog about art or culture? If so and you
would like to be featured in The Flaneur
please contact [email protected]
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Continued from front page. Take His Girl
Friday (1940), for instance. Sexual
tension holds this picture together,
which is a good thing because the
poor preservation of the film
means nothing else is, sadly. Cary
Grant and Rosalind Russell
(pictured above) play divorcing
reporters brought together for one
last case. They spend most of the
film exchanging tongue lashings
and looking at each other like they
would much rather be swapping
saliva. If you can get past the
muffled soundtrack and grainy
footage, this is one of the best
showcases of verbal wit you will
ever encounter; when someoneremarks on how charming Cary
Grants Walter is, Rosalind Russell
quips He comes by it naturally, his
grandfather was a snake. It is
hard to imagine many actresses
today pulling off the droll sexiness
of Russell in this film. Indeed,
cumbersome lip fillers probably
mean they have clauses in their
contracts against two-syllable ormore words.
Before becoming known for his
grizzled cowboy roles, Gary Cooper
actually plied his trade playing
hapless small towners exploited by
the newspaper biz. Mr Deeds Goes
to Town (1936) sees the
eponymous country bumpkin
inherit a fortune and become the
target of award winning journalistLouise Bennett. As she falls for
him, she begins to regret
portraying him as an inept
eccentric in the press. If you can
suspend belief and embrace the
fact the film has a Pulitzer Prize
winner still rooming with one of
her best mates, it makes gripping
viewing. Accused of madness due
to his extravagant philanthropy,
Mr Deeds has interesting
implications for our own times; is it
really so insane to help those
struggling in a recession? After all,
these are the same people who
stare out at us hopelessly from
every newspapers front page.
Likewise, Meet John Doe (1941)
sees Cooper get caught up in a
newspaper-induced quasi-
revolution. Barbara Stanwycks
desperate journalist creates a
fictitious man threatening to
commit suicide because of the ills
of society. Coopers tall, dark and
handsome ex-baseball player fits
the bill to pose as this John Doe to
milk the ruse and keep paper sales
up. What follows is a sort of 1940s
version of We are the 99% asJohn Doe
begins to believe his hype and
embrace his growing role as the
nations moral saviour; John Doe
clubs rally and protest for better
economic opportunities. Sound
familiar? On a side note, there is
also one particularly Freudian
spanking scene between Stanwyck
and Cooper that I will probably
have to explain to a therapist one
day.
It Happened One Night (1934) is
also quite risque. Spoilt heiress,
Claudette Colbert, is hunted down
by Clark Gables rakish reporter in
abid to get a scoop for hisnewspaper. Noted for its
pioneering on-screen nudity
(Gable doesnt wear a vest
underneath his shirt (gasp) and
Colbert flashes her gams in order
to hitch a ride), It Happened One
Night is actually a very sweet love
story, filled with sparkling dialogue
to stop you reaching for the sick-
bag. Plus, any film featuring an
extended metaphor for putting out
involving a trumpet and shouting
about the Walls of Jericho is worth
it for that alone.
Of course, I couldnt finish without
mentioning Citizen Kane (1941).
The rise and fall of the newspaper
tycoon has entranced generations.
Whether you believe the hype or
not, this is another film that
resonates with our own time.
Rupert Murdochs recent fall from
grace echoes the lonely demise of
Kane; when all the adoring
groupies are gone, where does the
self-made man turn in his twilight
years? At least Murdoch has his
spry wife to defend him, Kane was
only left with crumbling towers of
memories.
It is striking many of these films
have so much relevance to life
today, but it is dismaying that sofew nowadays can boast the same.
In an age of new technology where
celebrity rules, it is hard to tell a
news story apart from a reality
show. Perhaps that is why more
recent, well-crafted films
concerning journalism also focus
on the past. The Lives of Others
(2006) managed to be an original
exploration of writing under Stasi
oppression and the all-consuming
desire for celebrity. A far cry from
the current parade of Carrie
Bradshaw knock-off films that are
more about an all-consuming
desire for shoes than anything
else. The Devil Wears Prada,
anyone? Nevertheless, maybe all
hope is not lost. The interesting
times our media faces could kick-
start a revival of the newspaperfilm- though I doubt the
euphemism the Walls of Jericho
will ever catch on.
You can watch His Girl Friday free
(and legally) online here: http://
archive.org/details/
HisGirlFriday-1940
And Meet John Doe here: http://
archive.org/details/meet_john_doe
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Prague Flea Market, Kolbenova, Jan 2012
Prague Flea Market, Kolbenova, Jan
2012
byEMILYH
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Wild Mushrooms: An autumn fungi foray
by Rebecca Davies
I set off on a bright sunny
afternoon and walked through the
church yard towards the nearbywoods. Amongst the graves I came
across a beautiful tree covered in
red fruit, like jewels in the sun.
Crab apples! I shouted excitedly
and started to pick the fruit off the
tree. I took a bite into one of the
tiny globes. It was nothing like I
expected, actually juicy and sweet.
A bonus find, I started collecting
the apples from a branch broken
under the weight. It would make
some delicious wine.
I continued on my mushroom hunt
through the graveyard and came
across a group of mushrooms,
wavy at the edges with a tan
coloured cap and lilac gills. I
picked one and examined it.
Lepista nuda or Wood blewit. Over
the style into the field where the
farmer seemed to be growing a big
crop of rapeseed, swinging my
wicker basket in anticipation of the
other mushrooms Id find.
I breathed in the smell of the
autumn freshness, the damp smell
of the trees, kicking up the red and
orange leaves underfoot as I went.
I love this time of year with thebeautiful colours everywhere. I
followed a stream and suddenly
spotted, nestled on the bank, some
familiar shaped leaves.
Im sure thats wild watercress.
I bent down to pick the dark green
leaves. I tasted them they
definitely had that peppery taste.
Another ingredient to add to mysalad later.
Further on I walked past a pond,
small waves blowing in the wind
towards the shore. Through a gate
I spotted something growing at the
base of a tree.
Its a puff ball!
Lycoperdon perlatum, the common
puff ball. I cut into it with my
penknife and revealed the creamy
white flesh which was fresh and
clean. It has a marshmallow
texture and is edible when young,
delicious sliced and fried in butter.
Some of them were past their best,
I stepped on one and big puff came
out. I picked a few of the best
specimens and put them in my
basket.
Up the hill-track and there in a
five-foot diameter semi-circle were
at least thirty mushrooms!
How exciting! Look at them all
theyre amazing!
I didnt immediately know what
they were. The mushrooms were
brownish grey, quite large, with a
11cm diameter dry, smooth cap
and a 12cm length stem. However
as I was unable to identify them I
put them in a separate bag. This is
vital when you dont know if a
mushroom is poisonous, because if
poisonous spores fall on edible
mushrooms they can make these
poisonous also. They had a
perfumey turnip smell. Later I
identified them as Clouded Agaric
(Clitocybe nebularis). They had
creamish colour gills, which were
crowded and slightly decurrent.
However I was disappointed to find
out they werent edible and could
cause digestive upset.
I continued along the path, the
dappled sunshine following me into
the woods. I had high hopes I
might even find a Porcini, known
as Cep in France or Penny bun in
Britain one of the most highly
prized mushrooms. There were
lots of little fungi and poking in the
undergrowth with a stick I saw the
top of another.
Could that be an ink cap?
Was it a common ink cap? I have
not actually eaten these as they
are extremely toxic if eaten within
48 hours of consuming alcohol.
The shaggy ink cap on the other
hand is very good to eat. Into my
basket it went for identification
later. The older ones certainly had
some black substance like ink on
their gills, hence the name. Deeper
into the woods there was a tree
that had fallen across the path and
a huge clump of glistening yellow
mushrooms. Definitely Sulphur
tuft. They looked beautiful butunfortunately were poisonous.
Just a little further were some
more mushrooms growing on dead
wood. Grouped together similar to
the Sulphur tuft, could they be
Honey fungus(Armillariamellea)?The stems however were
wider and than the Honey fungus.
I later identified them as Bulbous
honey fungus (Armillaria bulbosa),
similar to the Honey fungus but
with a more swollen base on the
stem. Delicious just the same. This
mushroom had a brown cap, very
convex at first becoming flatter.
The young ones had a darker area
in the middle with hair-like scales.
Dirty white gills becoming flesh
coloured with age. Note that Honey
fungus is extremely destructiveand kills trees and shrubs so keep
it away from your garden.
However the Armillaria bulbosa is
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Continued from front page Within 2
weeks, I had a little condo, became
an art collector, started my own art
gallery and had a wardrobe to die
for. Today, I am a celebrated artist
and have made a name for myself.
Well, another name anyway.
Evolution 2006-2012 by
Kristine Schomaker
When I created my avatar, Gracie
Kendal, I had no idea I would be
looking so deeply into identity, both
on a very personal level and publicly.
At that time, I was suffocating in my
life. I was working on my Masters
Degree, had a full time job, I was
living with my parents to save
money and hardly creating any art.
My life changed the first time I
logged into Second Life.
Second Life offers people the
freedom to explore changing identity
dynamics. Experimentation is
welcome. It is a safe environment
which allows unlimited freedom toexpress oneself and consider
boundaries/barriers that arent
readily accepted in the physical
world. Michael Gibbons in an article
Avatars for Art Monthly wrote,
Computer screens are becoming the
new location for our fantasies The
immateriality of cyberspace
dissolves not only space and time,
but our identities as well. For some
this is a frightening prospect, for
others perhaps the beginnings of a
new empowerment.
The G Crew at EID by
Kristine Schomaker
How cool is it for people to actually
get a second life? For those who have
been residents of the amazing world
of Second Life, whether for a few
hours, weeks, months or many
years we get it. We understand
what it means to don a persona, an
identity a mask and become
someone else, either to explore
another aspect of ourselves or find
our true self. Avatars are amazing
inventions. Just like Halloween,
Carnival or masquerades, we can be
brave, open and imaginative without
judgement or criticism.
In October 2010 I started shootingphotographs of avatars. When Ifinished year later, I had shot 2000
portraits. Each of the avatars who
participated in this project is a
person. A brave, creative, fabulous
person who found their way to
Second Life for whatever reason, and
they get it.
Gracie Kendal at the
1000+ Avatars
installation in Second Life
by Kristine Schomaker
One of the ideas behind the project
was to capture the essence of themodels. I wanted to show their
humanity, energy and personality.
Their character and attitude stood
out so innocently, yet poignantly. I
took a shot of both their front and
back sides. My plan was to hang the
portraits of their backs on the wall
so they would remain anonymous.
Their faces would be hidden. They
would be unrecognizable. Are they
men or women? Who are they? Does
it matter?
I have always believed that the
avatar was a mask that we use to
hide ourselves in order to truly show
ourselves.While I was shooting your
avatars, I saw so much life, so much
humanity, so much reality from
smiles to gestures to dancing to hair
and hats, to the smallest details ofsteampunk, dragons, and goth I
wanted to share this with everyone.
Most people in the real world spend
their lives in hiding. Hiding behind
TV screens, reality shows, plastic
surgery, diets, make-up staying in.
Second Life allows us to come out.
We can escape the bonds of everyday
life and the mundane tasks that wedread and enslave us. We log into
this amazing world full of hopes and
dreams.
Balance by Kristine
Schomaker
I have met many people here with
physical disabilities who log in and
walk, swim, talk and hear. How
wonderful is it that we can
communicate with people all over
the world through the easiest of
translators. We can collaborate
without borders or boundaries. Icant wait to see the evolution of
second life and its impact on society
in the future.
After shooting 2000 Avatar
portraits, I published a 2 volume set
of the avatars and Im putting
together a mixed-reality
performance/installation that opens
in May 2012 in Los Angeles. You can
view a selection of portraits atwww.
1000avatars.wordpress.com.
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Location: London
Website:http://
www.charlottehopkinshall.com/
Brief artists statement:
Like so many painters before me I have a
very real curiosity of mansidiosyncrasies and relation to reality.
From this I paint a form of psychological
drama, shaped by a desire for my
paintings to interact with the viewer by
creating a strange rapport between the
two. It is as though they were eagerly
seeking attention and desperately trying
to put sound to their irrevocable silence.
I achieve this principally with the
intensity of their gaze. They may make
direct contact by way of a look or quite
the opposite deny with a refusal toacknowledge, lost within their own state
of mind, within their own reality.
How did you become an artist? Did you
always dream of a life in the art-
world?
I have no memories of this but
apparently I always was one. At the age
of 15/16 I decided that this was the route
I wanted to take. My mother, supportive
but cautious, patiently sat me down and
explained to me that it would be a very
hard and difficult path. She was right,
but I have no regrets.
How has your education helped your
career?
I had a fantastic education and it helped
my career by setting a rigor that remains
with me today.
Do you work as an artist full-time?
Yes, when possible. I do part-time work
when the money runs out.
Describe your typical day. Do you have
a routine?
I work best in the mornings and my most
productive timeframe is 10am and 4pm.
I do have a routine and if it is changed it
upsets my day. I wake up early, take an
hour to read the paper with a coffee and
set off to the studio. Once there, I have a
cup of coffee sitting in my 1930s club
armchair looking at the work, thinking
about the next steps. At this point I will
start work. At about 4pm I start to crave
another coffee and food. I have a 20
minute break and then start work again
to about 6pm when I start to get tired. At
which time I either stop or push on to
7/8pm (if I have a show on I will work
late).
Parallel Minds
Which historical and contemporar y
artists do you refer to most often? How
are you influenced by their work?
I have a very eclectic taste and most of
the artists that I love have nothing in
common with my work. They trigger a
thought. I integrate the energy more
than the aesthetic, if that makes sense.
Matisse, Manet, Duchamp, Bacon,
Kirchner, Byzantine icons, Louise
Bourgeois, Thomas Hirschhorn, Neo
Rauch, Banks Violet, just off the top of
my head.
What are the other influences on your
work?
Books are a vital component for me in
understanding and directing my work. I
read a lot of theory. Otherwise, everyday
life, the news, small incidences, anything
will trigger a thought process.
What was the last exhibition you
visited?
Anslem Kiefer at the White Cube
Bermondsy
What is your favourite art gallery?
Galerie Eigen + Art
What are your experiences of the art-
world and the business of art?
They were quite positive at first, but
quickly became very cut throat. Bad
payers, bad communication etc
Galleries sometimes forget that we, the
artists, are the reason why they are
making the money. It is a tough world
with strong egos but when it works its
great.
Do you have any tips or advice you
wish you had known earlier in your
career?
To be less nave. The gallerist is not your
friend, he is merchant and in the end will
only have his interests at heart.
Do you have a quotation that you keep
coming back to and that keep you
going? Have you a motto that gets you
through?
Louise Bourgeois Whats in this space is
under my control.
I have a very deep commitment to my
work and I am strong headed.Which historical artist do you think is
over-rated? Why?
This is a difficult one because there are a
number that I could state, but when I
launch into justifying my reasons I find
that I keep finding redeeming qualities. I
do get bored. For example Modigliani
bores me, but imagining a whole room
filled to the ceiling with his work, an
obsessive quality of repetition would
become interesting that would distract
me from his tame paintings.
Do you or would you use assistants tomake your work?
No, and I dont think I ever will, or maybe
just to do the paper work. I am a
perfectionist and in any case my work is
very much my own painting technique.
Do you use social networks? if so, how
and which ones do you find most
useful?
No I dont. I probably should but there
are clauses on the Terms and Conditions
that I am unhappy with.
Which artist should we all look up
immediately? What art magazines,
blogs or sites should art lovers be
looking at?
Francesca di Matteo. I like Art Monthly.
Im tired with the glossies where half of
the content are Rolex or Mercedes
adverts although I quite like Art Review.
Artist interview - Charlotte Hopkins Hall
Are you an artist? Would you
like to be featured in TheFlaneur? If so, pleasevisit
the website for more details.
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Fresh Sounds from Eclectic Pop-rock Band
by LADYKATE
Thunder and Lightning by
Everything But Arms
I got the chance to
preview an album of a
new, up and coming
band which I believe
could be pretty big this
year. The Portsmouth
based 5-piece is young,talented and
contemporary. Going by
the name ofEverythingBut Arms, these young
men have only been a
band officially since
June 2010, after they all
left separate semi-serious bands to
combine their mix of
talents and create a
committed band with
huge potential. They are
primarily a pop-rock
group who have been
described by newspapersas eclectic and fresh.
This album Thunder
and Lightning is their
first full length release
and consists mainly of
rock songs, though they
throw in the occasionalsoft-centred melody.
Their carefully crafted
harmonies and
combined knowledge of
music theory and
practical experience
provide the perfect
recipe for the perfect
album.
As is the case with most
of the music that moves
me, their songs mean
something. The lyricsWill (the singer &
bassist) creates are
drawn from personal
experience, which for
the most part the listener
can relate to. Some
speak out about the
struggles the band haveovercome as a unit.
Unlike many bands
today, these songs draw
on real life, rather than
telling generic love and
break up songs.
They provide a freshoutlook on life and by
the end of the album you
feel somewhat uplifted
and ready to take on the
year ahead. And just in
time too, with its spring
release date its ready to
get you out of thosewinter blues and ready
to put spring into your
step.
Take my word Electrify is one of the
most beautiful pieces of
music you will listen to
this year. Keep your eye
out forEverything But
Armsas this spring isgoing to see them across
the South of England(and maybe further
afield) as they tour the
album. The talent this
band holds deserves to
be spread and these five
young lads warrant
success for their efforts
on this album.
If you still dont believe
me you can listen to
their two singlesSoPeterandMy Dads aSuperspy, taken from the
album. They have even
progressed significantlysince these two releases
and I cannot wait to get
my hands on the album,
I can tell you it will be a
fiver worth spent.
www.everythingbutarms
.com
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Greed
Rome, Ponte Casilino. Iaia Bell
Spongebob in Rome
You can call me Sir
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Travels by Film Roman Holiday (1953)
byPHILIPPA BURNE
Ive been to Rome a couple of
times. Though Ive never been
there with Gregory Peck. And
Ive never been there with a
wardrobe designed by that
legend of film Edith Head. Or
been there as a princess
pretending to be a pauper. Mine
is more the journey of a pauper
acting like a princess.
Rome brings that out in a girl.
All those Roman ruins bring
delusions of grandeur, fantasies
of eating peeled grapes and
scheming to overthrow an
Emperor while lounging by a
steaming, mosaic-laden bath.
(The closest I got was an
invitation to a bathhouse on a
Saturday night by the waiter
who served me coffee every
morning near my hotel. His
name was Tal. His coffee was
good. Im sure his intentions
were not. He was not my
Gregory Peck. I declined to
steam in his bath.)
Two paragraphs in and I
havent even mentioned Audrey
Hepburn. Talented, elegant, and
beautiful in heart. I challenge
you to find an analogous actress
now. When Gregory puts his
hand into the mouth of truth
(bocca della verita) and
pretends that its been bitten off
and Audrey screams, her
reaction is real, the moment
spontaneous, cooked up by Peck
and director William Wyler. I
scream like a banshee when
scared; Audrey remains elegant
to her core. She deserved Edith
Heads design-eye far more
than I do.
If Rome is a city where
anything can happen, Roman
Holiday is its fairytale. From
the beginning when Princess
Anns enchantment begins with
a sleeping draught to the
ending when Joe Bradley our
tabloid prince behaves with a
moral code little seen in this
century, this is Fantasy 101 and
I love it.
The device is simple: to show an
innocent (our princess) a city, a
world, a life. Joe takes Ann first
to his apartment in via
Margutta, the artists quarter of
Rome, not far from the Spanish
Steps. This is where
Renaissance and Baroque
artists lived, drank and fought.
Caravaggio may well have owed
money to someone living in this
very building. Or fought a duel
with them. Ann and Joe are just
one modern layer on the
history of this narrow street.
Layer upon layer, century upon
century, civilisation upon
civilisation, its difficult to
comprehend Rome in its
vastness, both in space andtime. What better place to lose
yourself for a day, perhaps
longer, perhaps more
permanently. Reinvention in a
city that is constantly growing
new layers.
But Romes no mouldy relic; its
alive and well and buzzing with
scooters. As Gregory whizzes
Audrey through one of Romes
iconic and death-dodging
roundabouts, it reminds me of a
taxi ride I once had through
Rome where I said to the
veering, diving driver Roman
traffic is chaos and he
answered, It is just free. We
Romans are free. (We made it
through unscathed and I did
indeed feel a renewed zest for
life.) Princess Ann is arrested
for erratic driving of a scooter
a little unfair consideringItalian driving but also
begging two other questions:
how can a European princess
speak all those many languages,
but not speak Italian?, and how
inept are the Italian police that
they do not recognise a missing
princess. (Scrap that last one; I
think recent history with
Berlusconi answers every
question about Italian policing.)
Has anyone ever stood by the
Trevi Fountain without being
given a rose? Its the place for
bold romantic gestures and
wishing on a tossed coin. Ann
and Joe are falling in love witheach other. Tourists are falling
in love with Rome. When a
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By Anna-Marie Amato
What guides us through an
invisible show?
The cubes, which make up the
Brian Griffiths show, seem to have
an intrinsic comment about
revelation due to their size and the
fact they are covered.And withanything ambiguous there is the
invitation to question and
therefore we are lead through the
exhibition with the answers our
inspiration brings us.
The notion of invisibility can be the
practical implication of something
not being visually accessible, or it
can be the more abstract idea that
something is overlooked. Being
seen and being admired seem to
hold a powerful connection when it
comes to the human condition.Wefeel that when we are not valued,
we are not seen; which, in a way,
comes with an optimism since we
are basically saying what is being
rejected is what is not known.
The large scale of the cubes are
almost daring one to notice them;
but the colour is subtle as if it isnt
intentionally trying to obstruct,
but thats simply the way it is.
The folds of the fabric and some of
the layout of the stitching, suggest
there is some kind of system. Thepattern of a tailored suit goesthrough an established process.However this structure has been
manipulated for an alternative
cause.
This kind of covering with fabric
seems to allude to protection and
this style of wrapping is often
positioned in the same way for so
long that it fades of becomes
discoloured in relation to its
position. This fabric seems fresh.Something is over because it
requires covering, but it hasnt
begun tofulfillits purpose andtherefore it hasnt begun.
Perhaps the main element of the
exhibition is mystery and the
unknown and the presentation of
something which, according to thetitle, is not exactly what we
perceive.
Finding the Invisible Show
charming man with a smile
gives you a red rose it brings
the city to bloom. When the
same charming man names his
price for the rose, the bloom
fades. In true princely style, Joe
protects Princess Ann from the
rose-tempters of the Trevi
Fountain. But he indulges her in
all the other joys of Rome.
Buying shoes. Smoking a
cigarette with an espresso.
Gelato on the Spanish Steps.
(Just what does she do with the
end of that cone? Is there a bin
nearby? Do not tell me thatAudrey is a litter-bug, I couldnt
bear it.) Fighting the bad guys
in black suits at the dance-
barge on the Tiber River. Our
princess is scrappy in a good
way. And any day out of reality
has to include a party with
consequences. Although I
wouldnt recommend swimming
in the Tiber. Not even to elude
the secret service. Well, maybe
then.
In most fairytales, girls dream
of becoming princesses. They
find their prince and love,
innocence and purity make
dreams come true. In Roman
Holiday, the princess is
innocent and pure, she finds
her prince and falls in love, but
he is only the answer to her
prayer for a day she must give
him up: the prince can marry
the pauper but evidently the
princess can not
Its Edith Head who has the
final word in Roman Holiday:Audrey begins the film dressed
all in white: an innocent
princess in an engulfing
nightgown, long
unsophisticated hair, milk
before bed. At the end of the
film, our princess is wearing
dark colours, her hair is short
and sassy, her eyes have
secrets to keep. Perhaps after
all the fairytale message of
Roman Holiday is that we who
can walk out of the palace at the
end of the visit are happier
than those trapped inside.
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The not so wise owlbyALLYF
Oscar had achieved much during his life. He
caught more worms than any other Owl. He even
helped the cranky crows as they were commonly
known in this neighbourhood and when fathercrow hurt his foot, he supplied a big enough food
fund to erase anyones worries. But all is not as it
seems and no matter how thoughtful Oscar may
appear it was all a front because he simply wanted
to be the most popular bird there is. The Owl that
everyone knew and the real Owl, were two very
different people, to the point that when one of the
old bats flew past his pent house tree lodge she
looked twice, turned around and flew back for a
closer look. She was so taken a back that she said
out loud; how very very odd, Im quite certainOscar lives alone and what ghastly clothing.
must be a relative!
To paint a clearer picture the Owl that everyone
knew looks like this. He wears a tweed waistcoatat all times. In the right-hand pocket there is a
pocket watch, and a hanky in the left. Glasses on
his head which bizarrely he never uses and a pipe
that was never ignited has a permanent place
under his left wing. Now the real Owl wore a white
baggy T-shirt with constant bean juice on it
(strange really because Owls dont eat beans) and
not to mention the unsightly gold chain. When
inside his humble abode he would often be
wondering around wingeing about all the errands
that he had to do for the less capable, all so that he
could stay in his penthouse which had been
awarded him by the council for his kindness and
consideration towards others and with the written
oath of long may it continue. He took some
bakewells around to Harriet the hedgehogs. The
Owl that everyone knew would have taken
four,however when purchased he was in his real
Owl mode so only took three (well youve got to
look after number one). When he left Harriets he
made sure not to leave empty-handed and took
some delightful crockery that he might be able to
flog for a good price. Owls penthouse bore a
striking resemblance to Aladdins cave. From all
the errands he had taken part in in the last year
although not physically but underneath all his
clothing he was always the real Owl. Always
thinking about what he could gain from a situation
to improve his life. When the sad reality is he had
gained nothing by taking what didnt belong to
him. The magpies had to work ten times harder
without the gold chain to live off and by pretending
to be nice to his so called friends he was merely
establishing false friendships that only reflected on
his character. However Oscar continued his
collecting spree although he knew he was doing
something wrong.
Then one day which so happened to be a Thursday
but felt like a Friday. The old bats elder sister, old-
old bat flew past the penthouse and was nearly
blinded by the glimmering lights. What on earth is
that she said why never in my life did I ever see
such a thing! Not knowing what to do she hurried
home in haste and told her sister at once. Who
replied with: why darling maybe he just keeps the
sun in there. They disputed but eventually agreed
that either way it seemed very odd indeed and
they decided to look together. This time not only
did they see the bright shiny glimmer from inside
the wardrobe but also Miss Magpies chain aroundan unfamiliar looking Owl who appeared to be
admiring his riches. The old bats began tapping on
the window almost immediately and shouting at
the Owl demanding an explanation. He turned to
the window in utter shock then in a desperate
hope that he wouldnt be recognised. The bats
refused to give up and gnawed their way through
the glass (they had frightfully sharp teeth for
bats).
Owl confessed all over a cup of PG stating; how he
just wanted to be loved, and thought highly of but
he never got anything back. The old old bat told
him that appreciation comes in a variety of forms
and not always within immediate response to your
kind hearted ways: we all live and learn Oscar.
Exactly a week later Oscar the Owl no longer lived
in a pent house tree lodge but under a fallen tree
trunk with nothing but his tweed jacket and pocket
watch for company. Maybe this Owl was now a
little wiser and he could start becoming the owl
that everyone knew.
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I wore my sneakers but Im not a sneak.
byHOLLY TAYLOR
I am always ready to draw
inspiration from anything,
anywhere, at anytime. They sayyou cant get blood from a stone
but I think if you gave me time I
am pretty sure Id find inspiration
in onesomehow.
Each time I dress I imagine myself
becoming somebody else, almost
like fancy dress but to me, a bit
more serious. Clothes can turn you
into anything you want to be, and
that may mean that sometimes I
want to be an elderly grandpa with
knitted jumpers and elbow patches
or sometimes I may want to be an
Ivy leaguer with my navy fitted,
gold buttoned blazer, shirt and
loafers.
Like many people, I also draw
inspiration from the world of
music and the musicians who live,
breathe and play there. As I have
grown, admittedly, the genres and
eras Ive drawn from have
developed into a place which I
would think was more accepting
within society. These days I turn to
the sixties, to the summer of love
andto the three days of peace andmusic with the aid of flares and
bell bottoms, crochet, fringing and
tie dye, whilst at the same time
trying to avoid looking like the last
thing left for me to do is carve a
pumpkin ready for halloween.
This wasnt always the case
nevertheless, as in my early teens
I didnt take the route of listening
to The Cure, Pulp & Leonard Cohen
(a soundtrack sitting, waiting,
wishing for Holden and his red
hunting hat to hit the silver
screen) like a stereotypical
frustrated teenager. To think back,
a phrase which sounds pathetic
when I will only turn twenty-three
this year (my memory is
dreadful), I wouldnt say I was a
frustrated teen in the same way it
is portrayed in film and in
literature. Even before hitting my
adolescence I quite often had a
vendetta with myself but rarely at
the world and thus, Morrissey to
me wasnt manna from heaven
that frosty, winter morning in late
2002 when I woke up to the soundof the postman delivering my
thirteenth birthday.
It makes sense, I get it, I can see
the reason why people make this
connection to the likes of The
Smiths and why they are bound to
J.D Salingers The Catcher in the
Rye as if they were the books
spine, the poetic simplicity of their
existentialist sentences talk
directly to them as if they alone
were the writings sole subject and
purpose.
For me however, I found my youth
down a yellow brick road headed
straight for seventies New York.
Not to Bethel and not even to
Manhattan but to the Bronx and to
the birth of hip hop
All areas of hip hop interested me,
its history and culture and not
solely how the music sounded;
although greatly important. I am
slightly embarrassed but at the
same time proud when thinking
back to the extent this whole new
and at first, slightly hazy lifestyle
took over my existence. I
submerged myself in it to the
degree that not only did it flood my
ears, my mind and myheart but it
began to saturate my wardrobe. I
remember my first wage packet at
the age of fourteen and how it went
straight on a pair of Levi anti-fit
jeans which I had had my eyes and
heart set on for weeks beforehand,
in anticipation. I had desired jeans
that had ample room to fit myself
and a whole other person in,
incase; without meaning to sound
crude, I ever felt the inclination. I
wore Nike Dunks and Billionaire
Boys Club t-shirts whilst the
recent and still unfamiliar feelingof my pocket burning holes flirted
with basketball jerseys on
shopping trips and my baby blues
eyed up my best friends pristine
Air Force Ones all in order to be
like the hip hop artists at the time.
I was white and I was female but it
didnt stop me.I wore G-Unitearrings to school, chose the
history of hip-hop as my talking
point for presentations in English
classes and one day my friend and
I even drew a teardrop on our
faces with the closest Bic biro in
sight.
Recollecting and seeing these
memories compiled together on
screen, it all seems a bit
cringeworthy now and at times a
bit too far fetched but that love
affair with hip hop still remains,
pumping through my veins,
indomitable as ever but now more
like an old friend, one who always
welcomes me back with open arms.
Make no mistake however, there is
aforceful impediment andrestraint on it ever coming into
contact with my wardrobe again.
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2012 The Flaneur and contributors | This zine is a small selection of what is available at The Flaneur | flaneur.me.uk Page 15
The Cinema of Ideas
By Barry Bliss
What are we coming to? No
room for me, no fun for you.
David Bowie
A revolution in cinema has
taken place and most people
are blissfully unaware of it.
This revolution is as great as
the French Nouvelle Vague
or maybe even the coming of
sound, the discovery of
montage and the invention
of the zoom. But there is a
paradox because although
this revolution is all
encompassing, by its very
nature it also remains
obscure, underground, and
therefore inaccessible.
This revolution is a child of
the digital age its midwife
the digital camera that is
both inexpensive to buy/hire
and equally cheap to service.
Advances in technique have
meant that these cameras
are no longer objects of fun
or ridicule, but have now
created images that few
would dismiss as anything
other than beautiful. With
this revolution the many are
once again enfranchised,
given a voice, a platform to
shout from a luxury only
enjoyed by the few until
quite recently. However (and
this is the sting in the tail)
although the many now rush
to create their own slices of
immortality, few of you have
access to view the fruits of
their labours as the process
of production has now
outrun the means of
exhibition.
We are still firmly stuck in
the age of popcorn and
multiplexes. Even the art-
house cinemas of my youth
have either disappeared or
embraced the machine that
determines freedom of
choice, but only from a
narrow bank on offer. The
cinema chains may have
become more diversified,
however those who supply
the films for exhibition can
still be counted on the
fingers of one hand and
they in turn often seem to
replicate what has already
been offered by their
competitors. We seem to
have returned to the age of
Henry Ford where you could
have a car in any colour as
long as it was black.
Other avenues too seem to be
ever-diminishing.
Independent filmmakers
were always given the sop
that if no mainstream buyer
would take up your film,
then an outing at a festival
would bring you notice and a
deal. However through the
pressures of the
marketplace, or just an
inherent conservatism and
resistance to experiment,
most of the so-called indie
festivals are indifferent to
anything that doesnt fit a
specific criteria a criteria Imight add that has been
developed by god-knows who
(certainly not the industry
practitioners). Cinema has
always had its fair share of
self-appointed arbiters of
taste, but now this condition
seems to have effected allplatforms. This choice seems
to me no choice at all. No
choice that is but one.
It has only been very
recently that filmmakers
have been able to
realistically show and sell
feature-length films online.
This technology is still in its
infancy. Will it be the tool to
break the stranglehold the
mainstream industry has on
your access to watching
films? It may be too soon to
tell technology has begun a
stampede in filmic terms andat the moment we are all just
holding on for dear life. What
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is true though is that we are
no longer condemned to
make low budget horrors or
derivative gangster flicks.
The field is open the only
restrictions are the limits ofour own imaginations. At
last we are free of the
prescriptive process, which
dictates what we make films
about, and what you are able
to see. Every skateboarder
or base-jumper, every
wannabe Kurosawa and
Lang can take up a camera
and announce to the world
that they are here. Of every
one hundred such films
made, ninety-nine will
probably be unwatchable,
but its that single film of
note that will now be seen
that makes this all worth
while.
I have always tried to make
films about something. Some
of these efforts have been
more successful than others
the point is we may now be
in a time where we can allow
the next generation the
luxury to fail. Only through
failure can you inevitably
have a sort of progress, and
with it hopefully a cinematic
future.
Its only with this attitude
that we can survive as a
filmmaking nation. That is
indeed my hope room to
experiment, room to fail if
necessary. And it is in thisclimate I embarked on a
musical about a struggling
artist. No car chases, no
murders, not a single hard-
boiled cynical cop. Not your
usual multiplex fare Im
afraid but then again Im
not sure I want you
munching on popcorn when
you view it.
KL Street Art, Hostile Yeti
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