beneath the roses

I'm a bit funny when it comes to exhibitions. I like art a lot, but I didn't study art history or anything, and often don't appreciate the technical points in an artwork. I'm also apt to roll my eyes a bit at most conceptual art; while I absolutely understand creating beauty just to create beauty, I have a generous amount of cynicism, plus all of my favourite books, films, and music go some way toward explaining something about the world - I prefer art that does that. Also, hearing people talk about art in galleries makes me feel a bit nauseous. It's probably not fair, but I feel as if they aren't really there to see things, but to HAVE seen them. Do you know what I mean? For me, art is quite personal. When I hear people talking about it in galleries, they always seem to be showing off what they know about the backstory etc, and never about how the art makes them feel, or what the person they're with thinks. Although I'm very willing to admit that feelings might be for amateurs... and I don't mind. I am an amateur, and feelings are a big part of how I think.

Anyway, that was a very long-winded (and weird) lead in to tell you about the art I saw in Wellington. So much art! It's funny (not really) how much more likely I am to visit a gallery when I'm on holiday. I went to the Colour And Light exhibition at Te Papa, which was very beautiful. I saw photos taken in Samoa by Thomas Andrew around the turn of the 20th century, which were great. I put on 3D glasses and watched an AV presentation called Ghost In The Machine by Sheyne Tuffery, which I really enjoyed. But nothing made an impression on me quite like that of Gregory Crewdson's photographic exhibition Beneath The Roses.

This is what Wellington's City Gallery says about Crewdson's work:

"Gregory Crewdson’s photographs come from the dark heart of contemporary Americana, belonging to a cultural lineage that stretches from Edward Hopper to David Lynch, by way of Flannery O’Connor and Alfred Hitchcock. Working like a film director, Crewdson creates elaborate scenarios either on location or sound stages, using sets, actors, and full production crews, all in search of a perfect ‘moment of grace’. This search sometimes  involves  closing down entire streets, using snow machines, and always shooting at twilight, when expansive lighting set ups can most effectively cast the beams of light that transform the mundane and vernacular into the mysterious and often transcendent. In his work the setting becomes part backdrop, part character, the site for highly-charged dramas that locate the alienated individual within or against a landscape as pressingly psychological as it is physical."

Each scene, which is carefully set up either on location or on a soundstage, is shot about fifty times. Each time, the focus is changed ever so slightly, so that when Crewdson goes to put the pictures together, he has fifty options to layer together to create the final work. His aim is to create something seamless and photographic without photographic limitations of blurring, or grain, or anything out of focus. The result is incredible; at first, you don't really know what you're looking at. You start from far away, and are immediately struck by this overwhelming sense of foreboding. Then, as you move closer, it's as if you really are walking towards the scene. You'll notice shapes in the shadows, figures in the smoke, and detail in windows pop out at you exactly as they would if you were there on the street. The feeling is so strong, you start to believe you can smell the air, and you feel the cold of the pending darkness (all of the pictures are taken at dusk). One picture made me turn away to protect my nose before I realised. The hyperrealism of each shot makes it feel so personal that you at once feel part of it and an intruder. You feel bad for looking into a motel room at a naked woman, but you also can't turn away because you're in it. I don't know that I've ever looked at art and felt that way before.

The exhibition is at City Gallery Wellington, and then comes to Dunedin Public Art Gallery (hurray!). If you'd like to see and read more about Crewdson's work, there's a good interview with him here, as well as sketched plans and details about the shoots. And here is a picture from the exhibition, 'Untitled (Maple Street)', 2003.

exploring jessica fletcher's closet

If you, like me, were born in the 80s (or if you watch daytime tv; I caught it one morning a few months ago and it was so exciting!), you might remember Murder, She Wrote. The trilling piano in the theme song? What a show. And, like me, maybe you remember the show mainly because she was such an amazing yet unassuming detective, always managing to observe things everybody else missed (and having the knack of being somewhere just before something happened), plus she was in Bedknobs And Broomsticks and sang The Age Of Not Believing, which you loved and would repeat over and over on your sister's record player.

We missed something HUGE. (Lucky we're not the detectives.) Her wardrobe. Thankfully, Lau didn't miss it, and we get to catch up on everything at her awesome blog Exploring Jessica Fletcher's Closet, where she goes through an episode, noting the 'Fashion Tip Learned' and 'Life Lesson Learned' and then posting pictures of the episode's outfits and similar pieces available now. In one instance, she even found the exact pattern for a knitted cardigan Jessica was wearing, still on sale for knitters today. I know!!!

Apart from her humour and attention to detail, one of the things I like best about the blog is the absence of irony. Lau's admiration for Jessica is genuine and inspires similar feelings. And Jessica Fletcher's outfits are so well put together, her grooming so neat, and her air so ready-for-anything, one can't help but take note.

Jessica Fletcher, my friends. (With thanks to Welcome to Ladyville, who brought the blog to my attention.) All images from Exploring Jessica Fletcher's Closet.

"...please airmail me some scotch tape"

Today I'm going to Wellington to meet my sisters for a combined birthday weekend; my parents' idiosyncratic reproductivity means that the three of us have our birthdays in July and are exactly five years apart (ten between me and my big sister). I have been looking forward to to trip since its inception, and when unable to sleep have planned and revised what I'll wear. It's very sad, but if you ever find yourself being at home in warm jumpers all the time, you'll understand. There'll be a lot of eating, and drinking, and gallery visits, and being mean to each other and about people we know. I can't wait.

Although what I'm taking bears only the slightest resemblance to her wardrobe, something has made me think about Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. Maybe it's all the black I'm taking. Maybe it's my subconscious telling me I should go to a hairdresser because the haircut I gave myself a month ago is growing out HORRIBLY. I don't know. Maybe it's just because there's a packing scene in the movie.

All images from here. Have a good weekend!

we're all mad here

No time today! Just enough to tell you that we've had a yes to the work we asked to have done to the premises - yuss! - and to show you this beautiful, beautiful dress from Adored Vintage, called the Beckoned Beauty dress. Isn't it gorgeous? I was imagining myself wearing it and actually being a better person because of how angelic it looked while I went to their website... and discovered it had already sold. Guess I'm staying bad. I only discovered them a few weeks ago but am making up for lost time looking through their lovely stock. If you're looking for a dress for something special, look no further. What a day; I feel like the white rabbit. Or maybe the mad hatter. I sleep when I breathe...

a song for wednesday

This is a song that always calms me down a bit, and puts me in the present. Lots happening in my head; worrying and planning and wishing there was a way to pack my suitcase without getting out of bed... I really thought we would have robot helpers by now. At least I've found a Dunedin stockist for environmental toothbrushes; mine is an embarrassment and probably verging on bad for my health. And ear-plugs! Can't forget the ear-plugs...

film inspiration: Adrian Pennino

I think only a heart of stone could not be moved by the first Rocky film. Admittedly, it spawned five sequels, so some people might have suffered from franchise fatigue (I haven't seen any of them yet so I can't weigh in) and the feelings of love the first film conjured might have faded. But try to remember! Remember the slights! Remember the turtle food jokes! Remember the training montage!!! And don't even get me started on the story of the film's conception; Stallone being forced to sell Butkus on account of being broke (and then buying him back when the film was sold but having to give the guy a small part in the movie as part of the deal), and the scenes he had to rewrite to fit props that couldn't be replaced on account of being broke. What's not to love?!!

Obviously, I love the film. I love the story. I love Rocky. And I love Adrian. To me, Rocky and Adrian are one of film's greatest love stories. They fill each others gaps, you guys. What's more romantic and beautiful than that?

If you haven't seen it, quit reading this immediately - you have more important business to attend to. If you have, enjoy the break from my raptures, and check out Adrian's most excellent wardrobe.

"I just want to say hi to my girlfriend, okay? Yo, Adrian! It's me, Rocky"

two types of goo

Today is my favourite's birthday. We celebrated with cake. Joe, who can't share the cake because of the chocolate, celebrated by trying to answer my phone, and broke the screen in the process. He says, in terms of health, our way of celebrating is more expensive. I disagree.

Anyway, Jimmy is allergic to eggs and nuts, so his birthday cakes are always experimental. Every year I've tried a different recipe, and every year I've watched him eat it feeling similar to how I used to feel when my niece was a baby and thought frozen peas were lollies - happy, and also really, really sad. You see, in baking, there really isn't a substitute for eggs. There are vegan recipes, which use vinegar and other stuff and say they're just like non-vegan cakes (they're not - they're the worst!), and there is 'no egg', which you mix with milk or water, and the cake comes out flat and a bit weird, and there's baking soda, which makes big holes and that's about it. It's very difficult for someone who makes everyone in her family's birthday cakes, and, between us, kind of prides herself on how they turn out. It makes her feel like Robert Downey Jr; cool in movies, but a Republican in real life. Ick.

I don't remember what last year's cake was, but I do remember that everyone who could eat egg bypassed it in favour of the other two on offer that day. But this year we will remember - this year, we may be on to something. I don't know why anyone else would want to bake a cake without eggs, but just in case, I'm going to share the recipe with you, because it has turned out YUM. It might give you the impression eggless cakes are okay - don't believe it. This is the exception; this is Amy Osbourne! I'm also going to link to the recipe from which I adapted it, Jamie Oliver's mega chocolate fudge cake (which I had never made before), and my FAVOURITE chocolate cake recipe Orangette's Winning Hearts and Minds cake (which I have made, was easy as anything, and so yum I wanted to eat the whole thing myself).

CHOCOLATE GOO CAKE adapted from Jamie Oliver

250g Whittakers (or whatever, just NOT CADBURY) 70% dark Ghana chocolate

175g butter

1 cup brown sugar

2 tbsp cocoa

pinch of salt

c. 1 cup mashed banana

c. 1/2 cup milk

1 1/2 cups of flour (possibly a little more, but the 2 cups I used was slightly too much)

c. 10 pieces of Whittakers milk chocolate with caramel

Now, Jamie says to throw it all (at varying stages) into a food processor. NICE IF YOU HAVE ONE. I don't, and crushing biscuits in the blender has taught me the blender don't like dry stuff. So I followed his alternative, and grated the chocolate by hand. It was an exercise in humility, love, and sweat. Humility, because I looked and felt ridiculous, scratching an entire block of chocolate against a grater. Love, because it took half and hour (and looked and felt ridiculous), but felt worth it because it was for Jimmy. (There's the second type of goo.) Sweat, because half an hour of grating something when you're unfit is a WORKOUT, my friends. Okay, you add the brown sugar, 1 tbsp of the cocoa, the salt and the butter to the chocolate (I didn't soften the butter properly; I should have), and beat until it's all mixed in. Then you beat in the banana and milk, bit by bit, until that's all mixed. Finally, stir in the flour. If the mixture looks floury at this point, add more milk.

I forgot to tell you the first bit. Preheat the oven to 160, and butter a baking dish (I think a cake tin would have worked just as well, and looked more like a cake than... I won't tell you. You'll know what I'm talking about when you see it.). Use 1 tbsp of the cocoa to coat the butter.

Put the mixture in the dish/tin, push in the bits of caramel chocolate here and there, and bake for about 20 minutes, or until set. If you test the cake, it doesn't matter if the skewer doesn't come out clean; you want it to be a bit jiggly. Also, you don't want the edges to get too crispy, because they lose the chocolate flavour.

Jamie says to serve with ice cream or creme fraiche, but I think it's best on its own; maybe with a bit of icing sugar dusted over the top if you want to put lipstick on that pig. Mine looks very different to Jamie's, but it tastes GOOD.

No photo because I can't find my camera (so also no photos of the birthday boy today), but instead, a song. Happy birthday, favourite.