Showing posts with label covering my tracks by casually intimating I was drunk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label covering my tracks by casually intimating I was drunk. Show all posts

Tuesday, 3 March 2009

Vermoulu


Just read, via Steve Baker's The Postmodern Animal, about Helen Mayer Harrison and John Harrison's project Casting a Green Net: Can It Be We Are Seeing a Dragon? which saw the two artists delimiting an area of the Pennines bounded by the Humber, the Mersey and misc. Roman roads in order to consider cultural and ecological interlinkages within it. Only when they'd set these bounds did they find they'd outlined a dragon. Wilfuly hallucinated out of OS maps, the Harrisons' dragon - with its two marigold wings and beaked profile - is illustrated above, as are a couple  of AGF's even more Rorschach-y blot-dragons. It's kind of like the woman-shaped map in Rider Haggard's She (with regard to which, transposed into a chic Gallic electro register, this too).

Dragons, as the mapping of one onto (or maybs the discovery of one within) the Pennines suggests, are instruments of territorialization and deterritorialization. Always occupying as-yet unmapped frontiers  (hence 'here be dragons' plus also 'It Came from Outer Space') they embody the negotiation of borders - between places, between species, between the real and imaginary. AGF's Dancefloor Drachen - the LP which the inkblot dragons were produced to illustrate - is about digital property, about modes of acquiring and altering others' music in an age when bricks&mortar pressing plants & record shops are increasingly superfluous, and is as such preoccupied with shifting boundaries. 
As with giants and Krakens, dragons speak to a kind of animistic need to imagine animals on the same scale as the landscape, who are or at least are able to shape that landscape, animals the forms of which are suggested in rockfaces and bunched clouds - hence the Rorschachiness of AGF's and the Harrisons' dragons.  Also pictured above is a plastic dragon-islet playset which I owned as a kid that opened up and had a smaller dragon in it. Pictured too is Shadow of the Colossus, a recent, deeply melancholy videogame where you kill 16 behemoths that turn, dead, to piles of mossy rubble which look from the right angle like like the monsters they used to be pre-ossification. The game takes some design cues* from the earlier Panzer Dragoon Saga, wherein you rode a dragon over ruins and deserts. One of the interesting things in Panzer was the dragon's malleability; there's three images above of the screen where you moved a cursor between 4 points in order to genetically reconfigure your mount in real-time. Aspects of the dragon would evoke a rhino, a narwhal, a cricket, a gecko, an egrit without its ever looking entirely like any of them, or even like a straightforward chimera-like composite. 

Reading Baker grapple with Deleuze and Guattari's notion of 'becoming-animal'  - which has to do with creating new, contingent combinations of attributes, with multiplicity and metamorphosis, 'deterritorialization' and the liquidation of known boundaries -  reminded me of this facet of the game. Becoming, in the Deleuzo-Guattarian sense, is not a matter of A turning into B or A + B turning into C but of perpetual, indefinable flux (nothing is and nothing becomes; everything is becoming) and  'becoming-dragon' is no more or less viable than 'becoming-antelope.'  As often w/ Deleuze, its an attractive idea insofar as it gets close to something of the way I find I think or intake stuff. I spent the lengthy tail-end of a recent party propped up frazzledly watching maybe 4 hours worth of Planet Earth, hours which are only now imperfectly recoverable - so that while there's odd gestures or textures or images that've stayed with me I can't, for example, say just what species the animal that tore out a long, red shoehorn of inner neck from another animal on a pebbled, spumy shore was - I've just a sense of scattering, slickness and blubber, mingled somehow w/ tactile data from the bubblewrap on the fancy-dress costume of the girl sat next me. The emotional residue smacks a bit of being a kid, back when it was okay to imagine or credulously read about or draw up dragons.
 
 

*not to mention its mood (which is that sort of bereft, coastally-salty bleakness you get in Old English poetry) plus a taste for portentous Engrish titles

(AGF's dragons from her website, poemproducer, worth-seeing-in-motion dragon morphing from this vid, Dune-y colossus from here, OS map dragon from Steve Baker's The Postmodern Animal, dragon islet from here)

Sunday, 3 August 2008

R.I.P.Y.S.L.


When that model ‘plunged to her death’ the other week (Ruslana Korsunova, while I was googling the whom, incidentally, itunes threw up Roxy Music’s Tara, which seemed super apt given its air of windswept albeit basically hollow melancholy and the fact that the title = both offhand geordie mode of adieuing and the name of many upscale girls from circa Roxy) it was sort of awkward because fashion’s not very good at seriousness and basically any tribute-payers had to find a respectful way of asserting she was good at a job that boils down to walking, being hot/photographed.

HOWEVER this month’s Paris Vogue  manages a weirdly moving R.I.P Y.S.L by having lots of old good photos of old good models in his clothes (mostly (conveniently) black of course), by teaching you to apply black cosmetics via images of the ever-more haggard/feral Malgosia Bela, by having oldenpics of Kate Moss in the proximity of new pics – catalysing own mortality type reflexions -  and by also being the pro fur issue, meaning a shoot where a frail Brazilian teeters about in the dusky pelts of ignobly slaughtered noble beasts flipping the bird at PETA sympathising placard brandishers. All of this, when I flipped through the magazine drunk on the train home last Saturday, left me a) w/ an impression of profundity/poignancy b) even more abidingly smitten w/ Carine Roitfeld, her iron editorial fist and whole callous, vapid, pseudo-erudite, pseudo-evil schtick.

Incidentally, Carine-darling and owner of everyone’s favourite decolletage Lara Stone said in a recent interview she didn’t think of herself as a very creative person, which is just wonderful given how Pixie Geldof reputedly told paps post ODing ‘creative people can be allowed to make mistakes’ (quote fr. london lite or quite possibly the london paper or metro) and altdom’s whole quasi-art production = inherently holistic and serious non-thesis etc. 

(L. Stone pic out of that summer 2k7 Another Magazine shoot w/ all the crocheted kneesocks fr. supermodels.nl, Paris Vogue pix, contents, lonely belgian 15 yr olds' discussion thereof @ http://www.thefashionspot.com/forums/f78/vogue-paris-august-2008-daria-werbowy-inez-van-lamsweerde-vinoodh-matadin-70337.html)