The inspiration behind the Threeasfour show last night - a short film directed by Albert Maysles called Cut Piece from the ’60s, a document of one of Ono’s performances.
Roamin’ 1 (1980), a film by Charles Atlas with choreography by Merce Cunningham. Cunningham died today at the age of 90.
Today’s recommendations:
- I Can See You, a film by Graham Reznick that opens today at the Kraine Theater, 85 East Fourth Street, East Village. Read the Times’ review here.
- The Anna Copa Cabanna Show with special guest Tommy Ramone of Uncle Monk (yes, that Ramone!) on May 2nd at Joe’s Pub. Buy your tickets today here.
- YouCube by Aaron Meyers, a 3D program for your favorite YouTube videos. See The Anna Copa Cabanna Show on six screens!
Last year, artist Lisa Kirk installed Revolution Pipe Bomb–tiny bronzed pipe bombs containing vials of a fragrance lisa kirk dubs “revolution,” you know, that smells like gunpowder, sweat and 1968–on the ceiling of P.S. 1. This past month, it lived at Invisible Exports, underneath House of Cards, her shanty time share installation, in what the real estate sale specialist (an actor in the gallery selling weeks in the time share) dubbed “the bomb shelter.” “Ask what’s under the rug,” the press release coaxed. Once inside the bomb shelter-cum-terrorist cell, a “commercial” for Revolution Pipe Bomb: The Fragrance starts to play and you see legs in combat boots running through Soho, alternating with shots of confused bystanders. Cut to a sniper, who shoots a person, then cut back to the running legs. At the end of the short film, two black-clad figures wearing face masks confront each other, then rip off their masks to reveal a beautiful woman and a handsome male counterpart. It’s the kind of dramatic pairing-off you see in fashion or fragrance ads all the time, followed by a product shot: “Revolution. A new fragrance.” I can’t quite remember the script, but you can imagine the voiceover, it’s one we’ve all heard (I hear it everyday when I spritz myself with perfume).
The production values of Kirk’s “commercial” are as high as any fashion or beauty ad–and, in fact, I was reminded of the fashion films I watched when I wrote The New Fashion Porn for The Daily Beast, seductive yet frighteningly hollow and unaware of their own ridiculousness. But Kirk’s “Revolution” is self-aware, of course; it’s an execution of Guy Debord’s concept of detournment - “culture jamming” - the reappropriation of the visual and narrative techniques used in advertising as a means to critique it.
Oddly, fashion often quickly and un-ironically appropriates the very representaions used in its own critique, almost as though in doing so they are always one step ahead (if only fashion actually did think this way, but in reality it does things without intellectual basis). If Jeremy Scott can make a fragrance that smells like a teenage boy’s locker room for Seven New York’s Six Scents perfume collection, then it’s probably not long before someone like John Galliano decides to make his own version of Revolution using Napoleonic guillotine imagery.
Here is the display of the perfume inside the gallery - note the bullet holes in the vitrine, a nice touch. The pipe bombs can be bought as a bronze, silver, gold or even platinum, though Kirk tells me only bronze and silver have been produced and sold. (And, she adds, platinum just looks like silver anyway).
Also downstairs in the shelter, gold-plated (or maybe just polished brass) Molotov cocktails on the left, and in the far right corner, one of Kirk’s paintball paintings. She creates those by filling up paintball guns with Urban Decay liquid foundation, shooting them at the canvas and then taking a blowtorch to it for a burned effect.
All photos by Renata Espinosa.
a short film by Guy Maddin (2004). My favorite part is when they use a rolling pin on her dead husband’s body.
I have nothing to say on the Oscars other than that I heartily approve of their use of gold and silver unitards in the opening medley with Hugh Jackman. Skip ahead to 3:58 in the clip below.
The row is empty; it is still early. A guy with a headset, official badges and company-issue t-shirt sits alone in seat 13. I am seat 12. He has tattoo sleeves. Awkwardly, I sit down and start digging through my bag for my pen, pad and camera. The usual settling in. The tent is too hot and I want to take my coat off. Suddenly I feel claustrophobic, as though I have no space to move about in order to do this. I will disturb the natural order of things, or at least the order of two people sitting side by side. So I sit there, burning up, trying to go about my business. But I can’t check my phone or look at my notebook, without feeling like someone is looking over my shoulder as I do it. Finally I give up on my own private activities. “So, you’re holding down the fort?” I ask him. Clearly this is not really his seat, he is wearing a headset, after all. “Yes, this seat is for Fern Mallis.” Fern Mallis is the vice president of IMG Fashion. I formally met her in Mumbai over a year ago at another fashion week and I will never forget how she found an incredible black and white striped rug at Fab India but decided it wouldn’t fit in her suitcase. So she let me buy it instead, even though I could tell she was very disappointed.
We are silent again and I start scanning the room for flashbulbs. Nothing yet, except for some shaggy haired guy being interviewed. I don’t know who is, which means he’s probably on television. “So have you been enjoying the shows?” the guy asks me. I look at him and hesitate. I can tell he’s quite thrilled to be working in the tents, holding Fern’s seat, watching all the biggest shows. I don’t want to be a killjoy by saying how crappy I think everything has been and how tired I am. I don’t feign enthusiasm, exactly, but I stop myself from complaining and give a canned response. Continue reading ‘it’s showtime, folks! (bye bye life)’







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