Neon Love

If you read my last post, you will have seen the neon rendering of graffiti on Park Hill in Sheffield. That piece of graffiti has become famous locally and, not wanting to lose the character of the building completely by scrubbing it too completely clean, the restoration kept it and literally highlighted it in lights.

Posting that image reminded me of another instance of northern neon love, which I encountered when I visited a friend in Wakefield and was browsing in the Hepworth Gallery.

12 Months of Love was a year-long project by two artists, Victoria Lucas and Richard William Wheater, which ran between Valentine's Day 2011 and 2012. Each month, a new love-based lyric was made in neon and mounted on the roof of a building in Wakefield, to intrigue and entertain passers-by and commuters on trains running nearby.

What a fun concept, don't you think? After all, who doesn't love neon? Okay, probably some people don't, but I certainly do. Who doesn't love a good love song though - whether it be sexy, giddy, heart-breaking or evoking any one of the many other manifestations of love? It would have been great fun to be a commuter in Wakefield on the first day of each month of that year, waiting to see what new lyric awaited you.

At the end of each lyric's run, the sign was auctioned off. That's definitely something I wouldn't mind having on the wall of my lounge room in my dream home... They did put together a book of all the signs, and there's pictures on their website, for those us who weren't lucky enough to score our own neon love lyric.

I wonder what lyric I would pick if I could have my own custom neon love sign... It would have to be something American, I think, from between the 1950s and 1980s... Perhaps a Blondie lyric? Any thoughts? What would you have? 

Bliss Valley Daze

A couple of weeks ago, I was up in Sheffield and visited their Millennium Gallery. The gallery is currently showing a landscape exhibition and one of the works on display which particularly captured my fancy was a continuous animation by Julian Opie. I thought I'd share it on my blog as those of us in the northern hemisphere begin to anticipate spring. 

You can indulge a little here, although it's only part of the full animation. Granted, nothing much more happens in the full version, but the plane does make it across the sky and another crosses in the opposite direction, making for an even more soothing and hypnotic experience...

It particularly spoke to me as it conjured up memories of one particularly idyllic mid-summer's day in 2009 when I took the picture below, as I lay in a meadow with my mum and The Cat, taking a wee break from a drive through Oxfordshire.

The reason we'd initially stopped was because I'd spotted this amazing building and wanted to see if we could get a proper look at it:

When I did my research upon getting home, I discovered it is called the Bliss Valley Tweed Mill... Perfect, no?

Here's to art, photographs and treasured memories that keep summertime bliss alive all year round.

O, Neville

The Google doodle for today is celebrating Edward Gorey's birthday. In my own nod to him, I decided to share my favourite Gashleycrumb Tiny...

For those who don't know, Edward Gorey is a wonderfully strange and macabre American illustrator. Young Neville above is taken from his book The Gashleycrumb Tinies, published in 1963, which recounts the tragically comical deaths of 26 children - one for each letter of the alphabet - in rhyming couplets. If you've not come across it, and you like your humour dark, I'd definitely recommend looking it up.

It's funny that Edward Gorey popped up today as I was just thinking of The Gashleycrumb Tinies the other day. I'd been listening to the Dresden Dolls and picked up my sketch book and a pencil to have a go at drawing up the image brought into my head by the song Mrs O off their album, Yes, Virginia.

Oh, Mrs O

Will you tell us where the naughty children go

Will you show

How the sky turned white and everybody froze

Heaven knows how they got into the fireplace

But everybody's saying grace

And trying to keep a happy face

And oh, Mrs O

Can you teach us how to keep from getting cold

Out we go and you watch us as we face the falling snow

What a show with our hairdryers aimed heavenwards

And fifty-foot extension cords

You really have a way with words...

The end result made me think of Edward Gorey's children, with their Victorian Gothic appearance and dark air.

Obviously, my drawing is a mere scribble of an amateur but I was pleased by the feel of it. Oh, and for the record, I have actually mastered the ability to draw decent faces but I ended up preferring the effect of the blank face on this occasion... Really, it's true!

And for those who don't know the Dresden Dolls, they're a duo from Boston who describe themselves as Brechtian cabaret punk. If that doesn't intrigue you enough to look into them, then probably nothing I say will. 

Image source: www.dresdendolls.com

But if you are intrigued, then Girl Anachronism is a fine place to start. I'll even help you on your way:

Coming Soon to a Gallery Near You...

 I just found out about this exhibition which is about to open at the National Portrait Gallery...

Well, that'll certainly be a worthy distraction as I expectantly wait for this to open at the Tate Modern later in February... 

And then I still have this to look forward to the following month...

Oh, London, you know just how to treat a girl, don't you? Indulging me with all this wonderful 20th-Century art and design...

Keep an eye out for posts about all of the above over the coming months!

The Cat's Pyjamas

As I mentioned last week, on Friday I got gussied up and went out for a nice blend of culture and fun at the Guildhall Art Gallery's 1920s-themed night. This is what I cobbled together from my existing wardrobe, for a vaguely appropriate look.

Dress: Rokit
Slip: M&S
Shoes: Jones Bootmaker
Sash: Bit of ribbon from a local haberdashers
Stockings: Boots
Brooch (worn on sash): Pierre Bex from Ebay (as written about here)
Earrings: Gift from my mum

But really, the look would have been nothing without the hair...

I'm really pleased at how well this turned out!  I think I ought to play with that style more often, especially until I get my fringe trimmed (which is becoming increasingly urgent if I don't want to be blinded, either temporarily by the curtain that is increasingly lowering, or permanently by being spiked with sharp hairs at the perfect length for painfully poking my eyes...). But this was actually dead simple for me, with my curly hair (God bless my curly hair).  The front just required a bit of coaxing and setting with pins as it dried.  One I removed the pins, the curls around my forehead stayed put without assistance and I just needed to pin the longer strands in place as a curl over my ear.  Everything else went into a Gibson roll and, voila!

By the way, those rings are the ones that never leave my fingers,

except when I'm asleep. The Whitby Jet (on the right) was a 25th

birthday gift from my mum and the other used to be The Cat's.

And here's some shots outside the Guildhall just to prove that I did actually leave the house.

I'm out of the house for something other than work!  And it's so mild that I have my coat casually open!

I would take outfit posts outside more often, finding interesting backdrops, but I never like having to remember to take photos when I'd rather be abandoning myself to fun.  Also, there's that awkward thing of being pose-y when there's random strangers about...  But, here, we found a relatively quiet spot on the opposite side of the courtyard from the Art Gallery.

Twirling about in the Guildhall complex, with its intriguing mix of old and post-war
buildings

Finally, we had a lovely night inside the gallery.  We perused the Age of Elegance exhibition, which was rather nice but which I wasn't blown away by.  There were some interesting and some pretty paintings in there but I felt that the theme didn't really come through that strongly, except in parts.  Baring in mind that all the pictures were drawn from their own collection, however, you couldn't really expect it to be as comprehensive or coherent as if they'd pin-pointed and borrowed from other collections.  So, it becomes more impressive when considered like that.

And, in fact, I'd like to go back to look at the rest of their collection when I'm not distracted by music, other entertainment and crowds.  It was difficult to focus purely on art with so much else going on!  There was a band in the main gallery with commendable stamina, playing classics and swing.  There were dance classes downstairs but I actually skipped that in favour of getting to look around the paintings at a leisurely pace.  But my highlight was potentially a chap called Mark Oostervan reading a P.G. Wodehouse short story, The Truth About George.  He was great, the story was a brilliant choice, and I was giggling away at all the best moments.

So!  The morals of this story are:
1) If you don't have authentic 1920s in your wardrobe, take the time to get the hairstyle right as that will work wonders in making your outfit more convincing.
2) Consider going to the Guildhall's Age of Elegance exhibition but don't break your neck in a rush to get there.
3) Take out a copy of P.G. Wodehouse's short stories from your local library and have a read.

Age of Elegance at the Guildhall

Next Friday, I am breaking my thesis-derived ban on fun to head to the Guildhall Art Gallery's late night opening for their new exhibition, The Age of Elegance. I spotted this ages ago when I was looking up information on their previous exhibition back in November or something, and it's been firmly in my diary since.  Try as I might, Friday nights are never productive anyway (as evidenced by the fact I'm blogging right now), so why not head out on the town?

The exhibition itself is a celebration of the fabulous years between 1890 and 1930.  So much happened between those decades in terms of style and social convention that at first it's kind of hard to see how it will all connect up.  But then when you think about the fin de siecle, Bohemian, wild abandon in the late Victorian era, and compare it to the interwar Jazz Age of Gatsby-esque decadence and luxury, I suppose there are currents which run through...  Something which I expect the exhibition will explore and which I look forward to seeing.

Lady Lavery by her husband, John Lavery
(Image source: Guildhall)

... And then there's the chance to have a little dance and a cocktail or two.  This special, late opening evening has been dubbed The Cat's Pyjamas and promises lots of entertainment in the Jazz Age vein, including a swing band and cocktail bar, as well as more quirky entertainment such as "spoken word cabaret".

Now, all I need to do is decide what to wear.  The temptation to wear 1920s, silky nightwear to play with the Cat's Pyjamas theme is great but I would have to source a new outfit for that.  Instead, I think I'll just have to go with what's in my wardrobe as I won't really have the chance to shop before then.  Unfortunately, my wardrobe doesn't particularly cover this period (love it, but the dresses never seen to suit my figure) but I'm sure I will manage to find something "inspired" by it...  Watch this space!

Love letter in the New York Times

Photo by Tomas van Houtryve for The New York Times

I've been awfully busy of late so not had much time for blogging BUT I just had to come by to tell you that my post on Oscar Wilde's tomb has been quoted in a New York Times article!  You can imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered this!  A couple of my lovely readers' comments were quoted as well, namely the lovely Superheidi who blogs over at The Swing of Things and the fabulous Miss Rosette Brune.

Also this week, I hit 50 followers, which is great news as well!  Thanks to all of you who read along and comment and who make the whole blogging lark so enjoyable.  Special thanks to Wendy over at The Butterfly Balcony for being the first brave lass to follow me!  Also to Betty Boots, who is the latest to join in the ride.  But you're all great and I look forward to (hopefully!) continuing to entertain you with my wee blog and to hearing more thoughts and comments from you.  I should have a think about a doing a special 50 followers/Christmas giveaway too...

Love,
Lisa Marie x

Oscar's Tomb (A Case of Misguided Conservation)

Oscar Wilde's tomb, Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris (Image source: Wikipedia)

As an architectural historian, a Romantic, and a lover of Oscar Wilde, I'm not quite sure how to react to reading an article that reports that Oscar's tomb in Père Lachaise Cemetery has been cleaned and restored, and is now going to be protected from devoted fans by a glass barrier.  I understand the desire to protect a memorial to a great writer (which also happens to be the work of a great sculptor, Jacob Epstein) but I am rather skeptical about the chosen approach.

The tomb is (or was, until the cleaning) famously covered in the lipstick of thousands of fans, who have been showing their devotion through kisses for years.  Although this is an absolutely fabulous tradition, it has apparently been causing damage to the stone, further exacerbated every time the stone is cleaned.  Now, any good conservation architect will tell you that, in many instances, dirt-ridden stones shouldn't be cleaned as the dirt may have formed a protective coat for the stone and exposing the surface again by cleaning will often make it more vulnerable to erosion.  Countless monuments and buildings have been irreversibly damaged due to this lack of understanding and the implementation of insensitive cleaning approaches.  Of course, the situation varies from stone to stone, and I can't say I know much about the effects of lipstick on whatever stone this tomb is made from.  Perhaps cleaning has been a strong necessity and was carefully and expertly carried out...  To me, however, it sounds as though they should never have attempted to clean off the kisses in the first place because that's where the problem really started.

The wonderful Oscar Wilde himself (Image source: Wikipedia)

I guess some may see the lipstick as being a vandalism of the work of Epstein, or a sign of disrespect to Oscar, as it has ultimately degraded his memorial.  But I have to disagree.  I'm a fan of Epstein's work generally, and therefore keen that any of his sculptures is treated appropriately and cared for.  But in this instance, in my view, the continued devotion of Oscar Wilde's fans more than 100 years after his death, represented by those lipstick marks, enhanced the impact of Epstein's bold, modern memorial, making it an even more fitting monument to a great decadent and aesthete.  Cleaning them off, and putting the tomb behind a barrier seems to be missing the point.

The visceral, impassioned, rebellious tradition created by Oscar's fans was beautiful and appropriate for the man.  My gut reaction is that an untouchable, pristine tomb which can be only politely viewed from behind a screen - I don't care how transparent or discreet it is - risks rendering the tomb clinical and cold.  

All Dressed Up...

Today I went to catch the last day of the Glamour of the Gods exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, which was a collection of Hollywood portraits from the 1920s to 1960s.

Whilst I was looking a picture of Marilyn Monroe, a lady came up to me and said, "You've obviously come from somewhere nice.  You're all dressed up".  To which I responded, blushing, "No, this is just my weekend wear", which she said was wonderful, making me blush further!  Unfortunately, I don't have an outfit photo for you to form your own opinions, but I was just in a full-skirted dress with bare back (It was hot in there!  I'd had to take off my jacket...), understated kitten heels and a bit of lipstick - quite a standard outfit for me.  Don't get me wrong though, I was flattered by her comments!

I do often have people surprised about what I wear on my "days off".  I don't know about everyone else, but I almost always dress more up than down on the weekends, no matter what I'm doing.  I have a bunch of dresses that I feel aren't quite right for the office which I relish wearing on the weekends.  They're not evening dresses, they're just perhaps a tad too... playful for the office.  That sounds a bit suspect but you know what I mean - full skirts and petticoats, strappy backs, that kind of thing.  Rather than showgirl outfits, which is what you might have thought with the "playful" description!

I guess I just don't understand the casual-on-the-weekend concept.  I take my non-work days as the chance to wear exactly what I want, and to experiment with hair and make-up as I don't have to be in a mad, morning rush.  I also find it's a good time to trial more quirky ensembles to see if I feel comfortable carrying them off in general public before unleashing them on my workplace.

I'd be curious to know, how does your weekend wardrobe compare to your weekday one?

Oh, and as I mentioned it, below are a few favourite pictures from the Glamour of the Gods exhibition.  Enjoy!  And hope you all have a good week, whatever you wear!

Louise Brooks by E.R. Richee (Source)

Carole Lombard by William Thomas (Source)

Michele Morgan by Ernest A Bachrach (Source)

Kaspar's Tale (aka The Lucky Black Cat)

As promised, I now bring you the strange tale of Kaspar the Cat.

The story begins with the millionaire, Woolf Joel.  He and his brothers, Jack and Soloman (Solly), grew up in the East End but had made their fortune with gold and diamond mining in South Africa, thanks to their uncle Barney Barnato.  In 1898, Joel gave a dinner party at the Savoy Hotel, a farewell before he headed off to South Africa.  There were supposed to be 14 people in the party, but one guest cancelled at the last minute.  Although warned that to have 13 guests would be bad luck, the party went ahead.  Having to retire relatively early to be ready for his departure abroad, Joel left the table before all his guests, dismissing the superstition that whoever left the table first would be destined to die first.

Mere weeks later, in his office in Johannesburg, Joel was shot dead by a blackmailer, Baron Kurt von Veltheim.  When this news reached the Savoy back in London, they knew that they couldn't risk such ill fortune falling upon another one of their guests.  As such, whenever there happened to be a party of 13 guests, they would recruit a member of staff to join the table.  However, this set up was less than satisfactory as the party would often wish to discuss private or personal matters, in which case it simply wouldn't do to have a stranger in their midst.  And this it where Kaspar comes in...

The solve the problem, Basil Ionides, who was responsible for the redecoration of the Savoy Theatre in the late 1920s, was brought in for an extra, unusual commission - to design and craft a 14th guest who could sit in on dinner parties without imposing on the conversation of the guests.  And thus, Kaspar was born.  This beautiful Art Deco cat was carved from a single piece of plane tree.  Whenever there is a party of 13, he is seated on the 14th chair with a napkin tied around his neck and is served up every course, like all other guests.

When he's not indulging in luxurious meals, he can be found in the hotel lobby, enabling goofy people like me to pose with him...

 

I will return soon with more tales of my evening at the Savoy, including the architecture, the cocktails and my new favourite dress!

Love Letter to an Artist

If I could have my portrait painted by any artist in history, I think Tamara de Lempicka (1898-1980) would be very high on my shortlist.

Portrait de Madame Allan Bott (source)

I've been obsessing over the above painting in particular recently.  Beyond finding her painting style fabulous, I love the sitter in this picture - her pose, her dress, her makeup - and I love the background of the dark city.  It's so incredibly beautiful.

A lot of people are probably familiar with her famous self-portrait...

Autoportrait (1925)

... but perhaps know her other work less well.  Let me share some of my other favourites I came across.

La Dormeuse (1932)

Young Lady with Gloves (1930)

The Girls (c.1930)

I love the way she paints curls in those pictures above, don't you?  Like beautiful, silky ribbons.

Saint Moritz (1929)

Blue Scarf (1930)

Calla Lillies (1931)

She looked pretty fabulous herself too...

(Source)

...had a beautiful studio...

(Source)

...and had an appropriately jazz age lifestyle.  Born into a wealthy family in Poland, boarding school in Switzerland, to Italy and the French Riveria at a young age, parents divorced when she was 12, went to live with her aunt in St Petersburg.  Her husband arrested by the Bolsheviks during the Russian Revolution, she secured his release and they ended up in Paris via Copenhagen and London.  In France, she became part of the bohemian set in 1920s Paris, where she had affairs with men and women alike.  She had a daughter who she painted often but neglected due to her obsession with her art and her debauched lifestyle.  Etc, etc, etc.

But most importantly, what an amazing artist.