In 1975 the Dutch conceptual artist Bas Jan Ader set sail from Cape Cod on a single-handed crossing of the Atlantic as part of what would be his final work, entitled In Search of the Miraculous. His vessel, the thirteen foot long Ocean Wave, was the smallest craft in which such a feat had been attempted. Three weeks into the voyage radio contact was lost, and ten weeks later the Ocean Wave was found partially submerged West-Southwest of the coast of Ireland, Ader’s intended destination. He, however, was never seen again. Read the rest of this entry »
Archive for the ‘I feel spaced out’ Category
June 15th, 2010
Don DeLillo’s White Noise was published in 1985, went on to win the National Book Award, and thrust him into the forefront of a vague movement called ‘postmodern literature’. I have never truly understood what this label means. Postmodernism in literature and art, in architecture and criticism has certain elements in common, but nothing binding, nothing constant, and maybe that is the point. At its core, postmodernism highlights the recursive, fractured thoughts that plague us as members of advanced capitalist societies: truth is relative to the observer, we are alone in a crowd, and the devices we use to create a sense of community or identity only serve to drive us further apart. We buy things that in turn try to sell us a semblance of self parceled out in neat monthly payments of 19.95. Read the rest of this entry »
March 30th, 2010
On such a series of rainy days it’s hard to be patient for the inevitable promised spring flowers or the long, drowsy days of summer. This is the difficult transitional phase, the growing pains of a season that just isn’t quite ready to step up to the plate.
For some reason, days like this make me think of northern France. Directly south of the English cliffs at Plymouth there is a town called Brest. It was almost entirely destroyed during World War II, left with only three buildings standing. In 1945, the poet Jacques Prévert published his poem Barbara, which I think is a fitting complement to such a day as this. If you are feeling a little wistful, a little longing for a rainy sea and a French day that smells of brine and wet wood, on a beach where the horizon melts into the earth– this is the mix for you. Read the rest of this entry »
January 29th, 2010
Deep winter is a tough time to live in New York. No one much feels like going out to brave the squalling wind and snow, especially for a drink in a hot, crowded bar with people so bundled up they resemble haystacks. February tends to be the month that we all burrow down into our skins and make a ream of plans that we have no real intention of carrying out, or research dream vacations that we will never be able to afford. Read the rest of this entry »
June 9th, 2009
Really, Rimbaud said it best, so I won’t compete. This year and every year, summer makes us all feel young again, at least for a little while. At least until Monday.
A mix for a Sunday rooftop, waiting for next week’s weekend, laughing, playing cards… Read the rest of this entry »
May 10th, 2009
…another in an occasional series.
White Horses, 1984, directed by Vladimir Grammatikov
I’m sorry, you know, but I had no other options. I didn’t mean for you to come here. But now you are here, you must help us. We can’t last much longer. With these words, White Horses begins its odd, uneven adventure. Roundly panned in the mid-eighties as too incomprehensible for children and too idealistic for adults, this Swedish adaptation of an Italian children’s novel quickly fell into obscurity, though it deserves further notice at least for its incorporation of all the classic eighties fantasy film conceits. Read the rest of this entry »
March 12th, 2009
Without further ado, I bring you the first of (hopefully) many Imaginary Soundtracks:
In Jakarta, Andreas Brezchs, 1987 Read the rest of this entry »
December 23rd, 2008
So, this is the end of the year, yet again. I am currently back in the Southlands, which make me alternately Very Happy (the excellent comforts of good food and general moody ambiance) and Very Unhappy (needing to drive everywhere and not owning my own vehicle, being held to other people’s schedules, lack of the internet). It’s strange not to have visited in an entire year. Contrary to what we may think, towns and cities are very much alive, constantly shifting and changing whether we observe them or no. Geographies are not fixed, but are a matter of pure context, rather like time. Read the rest of this entry »
December 10th, 2008
As the weather grows steadily colder, the light more grey, and the last leaves fall off the trees, living in a city becomes noticeably, well, geometric. Without any real organic presence, glass, metal, and cement are the materials that make up the bulk of everyday existence. I always wondered why city dwellers dressed so differently from people who live in rural areas, or even in suburbs. Every time I get off of a flight in a Southern airport, one of the first things I notice is the profusion of pastels (and fleece– ha.) worn by people not-of-the-city. However, being here in the winter solves some of the mystery, sort of. What are the main colors of New York in winter? Grey, black, white, brown, and brick red. Read the rest of this entry »
November 3rd, 2008
The winds of change, they are a-blowin’. This, combined with the steadily cooling weather puts me in the mood for Tropicalia. Started in Brazil in the sixties, the movement encompassed a diverse mash of influences, taking on guises from many styles of music, poetry, and literature. It ended abruptly in 1968 when Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil, the leaders and most recognized voices of Tropicalia, were incarcerated on false charges by Brazil’s right wing military dictatorship. Though later released, they were exiled from the country for four years. Many of their contemporaries were not even this fortunate, undergoing torture and forced “psychiatric care” for their artistic creations, lifestyles, and attempts at cultural syncretism. Read the rest of this entry »
