It’s very late and though I have lots to say about Louise Bourgeois (some of which I’ve already said), I’ll keep it short and sweet for now. Here is a picture of her sculpture “Arch of Hysteria.” Like most of her work, it’s scary and eerie and yet…somehow beautiful. To me, it speaks to that feeling of dread that settles in the pit of my stomach after I make a life changing, supposedly freeing move (for further reference, see the ending of The Graduate). This figure is trapped, yet fluid. It’s the combination of anxiety and bravery made physical in a sweeping motion of the human form. It’s how I feel whenever I stand on top of a mountain: terrified, but terribly alive.
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Aakash Nihalani’s neon New York.
Portland has some great street art, but I would really like to see Aakash come to town and decorate some of our old, gray, grandiose buildings with his colorful shapes. Instead of using spray paint or wheatpaste (the two most common materials to use in graffiti art) he relies on neon-hued tape to create his bold geometric patterns. The piece above is named Rainborough, which is a delightful play on words if I ever heard one.
But, like many things, you’ll only see Aakash’s work in NYC. As he explains on his website, he wants viewers to experience New York in a new way, through new eyes brightened by vivid pinks, yellows, and reds. These glowing tones highlight the solid shapes of New York architecture, emphasizing both the past and the city’s brilliant future.
For more of his work, check out aakashnihalani.com. Or you could go to his Flickr stream. And if you’re feeling inspired, you can always order some washi tape and create a little Nihalani-style mural on your own wall (and that’s what I’m going to do, as soon as I have a hot minute to myself).
Clare Elsaesser paints the perfect summer.
To me, summer is a state of undress. It’s bathing suits worn as bras in anticipation of a potential swim. It’s running around in a t-shirt and cut-offs, with as few pieces of underwear as possible. It’s loose limbs and undone hair, cotton dresses that don’t quite cover, blisters, sunburns, tans, and bare feet.
Much like my introductory paragraph, Clare Elsaesser’s paintings could be read as sexual. They feature waifs, thin and graceful, covered by flowers or standing in a colorful, kaleidoscopic mess of blues and greens. They’re walking through sun-dappled woods, faces covered but legs nude, or emerging from water that has been abstracted into flat planes, blocks of color. While Elsaesser mutes the backgrounds, she applies a much tighter hand to her romantic heroines and her shockingly pink blossoms. These girls are lovely in their anonymity, sweet and floral and free.
And yet to me, there is nothing overly sexy about the summer state. The lack of clothes are not for show; they’re for my body, which craves warm air and the wash of sun. That is, I think, what makes it so great. Clare’s girls aren’t being stared at by predatory eyes. They’re relaxed, languorous, sensual yet not quite sexual.
I love these paintings so much, that I am going to buy myself one for my birthday (coming up in 10 days!). I also wanted to share them, because they are too pretty to keep to myself, and I think she’s talented in a way that makes me envious. It’s like the girls in the sketches; I want to be seen (and to see) in this way.
Buy a Clare Elsaesser print here. They are very affordable, just don’t buy the one I want, kay?
Jason Brooks puts Paris on paper.
Fashion illustrator Jason Brooks has just managed to bump Paris onto my “worth it” plane ticket list. I never really wanted to go to Paris. I’ve always been more attracted to isolated places, like Alaska or Siberia, than big, beautiful, old cites. Though describing it now, I realize I do like those crowded places, too. Just Budapest, not London. Philadelphia, not LA. I’m picky, I guess.
But I am veering too far off topic. Jason Brooks is publishing a book of his sketches of Paris. They are, by their very nature, wonderfully romantic. How can a drawing of a street be romantic? I don’t know. It just is. That’s the entire point of Paris. It exists solely for the macaroons and tulips and rainy, hazy days, and the entire idea of Spring in Paris and love in Paris and that lady who fell in love with the Eiffel Tower and married it. Clearly, she took it too far, but Paris has that je ne sais… Ugh, I’m sorry. Just look at his book.
Cross this off my bucket list.
I spent my entire day styling a photo shoot in Boston and assisting my coworker Nick (who is a fantastic photographer) with all the things that go into making a really good picture (like holding up my jacket to block the harsh sun, and brushing our models hair every three minutes to make sure it looked okay). It was surprisingly exhausting.
In order to create the picture, we had to buy around $100 worth of flowers, a task I loved. Ever since I was a kid, annoying my mom by picking yucca blooms of the neighbor’s plants, I’ve wanted to pick all of the flowers. When I was little, I would make “perfume” out of lilac blossoms by boiling them down in water and adding mint leaves. It eventually rotted and smelled terrible, but for a few sweet hours I felt like I had figured out the secret of being a lady. (I didn’t know then that there are so, so many secrets to being a lady that I will never figure them all out).
It’s probably because I have seen one too many pictures of Ophelia, floating around all romantic and dead and tragic, but I have always wanted to swim in flowers. So tonight, when I was finally done with work, I took all the beheaded flowers and threw them in the bathtub. It was weird, impractical, messy, and absurdly satisfying. When you’re a kid, you think the oddest things are just so cool. Like braces on the pretty girls, or the only boy in your neighborhood who can throw up on command, or even more questionable things, like Pogs or Tamagotchis. I always thought excessively long hair was so, so cool. And flowers. As a result, I had hair down to my butt and annoyed the neighbors.
My hair is a lot shorter now (I can’t sustain long hair) but I still want to be covered in petals.
Turning paper into water.
Paper is amazing. It’s an amazing material. Think about it. Until we had screens, we needed paper to transmit our information. It is the surface on which people write great novels, scribble sappy love notes, paint touristy scenes, and jot down ever-vague notes-to-self (I am particularly guilty of this last one). Paper is also one of my favorite materials when it comes to creating art. Cut paper pieces are simply gorgeous, and the shapes that can be made from plain cardstock never cease to blow my mind. I could write an ode to paper—a careless person might say that I am, right now, composing an ode to paper, but nope, it’s not a poem so it’s not an ode, okay?—but I think it’s better to just show you what can be done.
This is what Yuko Takada Keller does with cut paper. She takes these little shreds and turns them into flowing water, cascading light. In her installations, paper denies the laws of physics and takes on any form it pleases (air, water, even fire). The many little pieces work to form something greater, something that breathes motion and mutability.
And, thanks to her eye for color, they’re also just so peaceful to look at. Light greens and clear blues. In an artist statement, she said “I hoped my works would remind the viewer of something pure and natural in this world,” and oh, it does.
More here. Found via Pinterest.
I want to be a sketch.
I just finished reading Was She Pretty? a graphic novel by Leanne Shapton that explores one simple, jealous, unanswerable question. Was she pretty? We ask our current partners. Yes, they say, with only slight hesitation. “But she was…” mitigates it slightly. But you know. Of course she was pretty, otherwise he (or she) wouldn’t have loved her. She was pretty and a dancer and she cooked him thai food every night. She was pretty and a filmmaker who hated blockbusters and could quote Goddard. Most importantly, she simply was.
While reading it, I found myself thinking not at all about my boyfriend’s exes. I didn’t think of my ex’s either, and what they must be doing with their new, pretty girlfriends who probably love hiking and are too sophisticated for boxed wine. No, all I could think was: I want to be one. I want to be reduced to a simple, lovely sketch. I want some essence of Katy to be distilled into a black-and-white series of lines and a romantic, mysterious caption. John’s girlfriend Katy liked to drive in barefeet and cut-off shorts. She could roll a joint and smoke it without veering from the center line. (High school). Jake’s girlfriend Katy loved watching horror movies with him. Her skinny arms would wrap around his torso, hungry face hidden in his chest. He stroked her hair and never called her by her proper name. (Or later) Josh’s ex-girlfriend Katy worked best in her own bed and hated staying at his house. She had the most dexterous toes he had ever seen, and loathed it when he made his bed.
It’s fun. I don’t sound nearly as romantic as a ballerina or an aristocrat, but with the right sketch, I think I could make someone jealous. Or someone fall in love with my two-line personality, like I did reading Shapton’s words, again, and again.
Bryan Nash Gill turns trees inside-out.
“If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?” It’s a silly question, but I like to ask it. I think what people say is telling. I’ve noticed that some think they’re strong, solid trees (and often think in terms of furniture and the use of the wood), while my female friends are more likely to call themselves aspen, or birch, or even magnolias. I’ve always loved dogwood trees myself, but there is something wonderful about a tall, white pine. Or the vanilla-scented ponderosa pines. Trees tell stories, I think.
Judging by his work, Bryan Nash Gill probably has thought about my goofy, getting-to-know-you question. How could he not? His art works are so deeply inspired by trees, from his gallery installations and sculptures to his fantastic prints. He creates these images (like the one above) by covering a tree stump in ink, and placing the paper directly on the wood. It makes an imprint of the rings, of the entire history of a tree. It looks like a fingerprint, but it’s much better, for unlike our static prints, these uneven loops change and grow every year (that is, until someone cuts them down and looks inside).
While I like the tree prints best, he has a fantastic body of work. See more on his website.
Late to the party: Nick Knight’s “Flora”
Fashion photographer Nick Knight has been making people gasp for years but I just got to know his work today, thanks to his book Flora. While his pictures of wilting waifs are gorgeous, I’m more drawn to his dripping flowers. They’re drenched with color, saturated with pinks and reds and purples and other colors that remind me of broken veins and beautified bruises. Darkly pretty, except they strike you as pretty first… the eerie feeling creeps in after looking at it a little too long.
It’s like his lovely, lovely photos of women sleeping. At first, they are sweet pictures, images of the body at rest. But then, when you imagine the position of the photographer, the place they must have stood, the voyeurism implicit in such a shot—then they become sinister. Fully realized in their power.
Weird, pretty, creepy, lovely. I like it.
I Like You: Some great (cheap) art prints.
I need more art on my walls, but purchasing originals is out of the question. Instead, I’ve become addicted to sites like 20X200 (now sadly defunct) and Society 6 to fill my visual hunger. Here are a few prints from Society 6 that I’m crazy about right now. I’ll probably buy one of them before the day is over…
I’ve been eying this one for a very long time. How nice would it look blown up huge on a stretched canvas over my dark blue couch? Really nice. Winter Horseland by Kevin Russ.
This is another one that I would want to order in the largest size possible. It feels a little bit abstract, but calm. Layers by Cameron Booth.
This little lady I would want teeny tiny, in a small white frame. If I had a kid, I would hang it in their room. So cute! Fawn by Emily Hamilton (her other work is great, too).
This is my favorite one. The problem is, I don’t want it in a frame. I want it huge! And they don’t offer it in larger sizes. It’s so dreamy and gorgeous. It seems like my bedroom is all green and gray, and this would be a nice touch of color. Summer Reflections by Oliviia Joy StClaire.
And last but not least is this image by David Fleck. I don’t know where it would fit in my house, but I love all his work. He has a great style, and a propensity for hot air balloons. I love hot air balloons. The Start of Something by David Fleck.
Katy Kelleher 
