Memrise “Imagine waking up tomorrow and discovering that all the world’s ink had become invisible and all our bytes had disappeared. Our world would immediately crumble. Literature, music, law, politics, science, math: Our culture is an edifice built of externalized memories.” - Joshua Foer, from ‘Moonwalking with Einstein’
Fashion Blogger Matches Her Outfits to Artworks Cait Munro, Thursday, August 7, 2014 Share Todd Eberle photograph with a Mary Katrantzou dress. Photo: Instagram/@paridust Pari Ehsan is an art-savvy fashion blogger whose Instagram account quickly ballooned to over 100k followers when she received a nod from the Council of Fashion Designers of America as their inaugural Fashion Instagrammer of the Year. Unlike other fashion/art mash-ups that have attracted attention online, Ehsan’s images are all real—no Photoshop, no gimmicks, just beautiful clothes and beautiful art in perfect concert. “It started as a means to capture the way fashion and art interact and inform each other…I want to educate readers about art through the lens of fashion,” she told the New York Post. When she isn’t working full-time as an interior designer, she spends weekends on marathon gallery hops around New York. When she finds a work or show that inspires her, she digs into her incredible wardrobe to assemble an outfit accordingly. The resulting images are worthy of any magazine’s glossy pages, and serve as a breath of fresh air for fashion folk fatigued by predictable bloggers, as well as a gateway drug for art lovers who might otherwise lack an entrance point into the fashion sphere. While she names Anselm Kiefer and Sterling Ruby among her favorite artists and Stella McCartney as her most coveted high-end designer, her recent uploads find her on a Richard Serra balance beam at Storm King and in a Calypso St. Barth kimono beside a glittering Mickalene Thomas at Lehmann Maupin. If you’re suddenly feeling the pressure to quit hitting Chelsea in your all-black uniform, you’re not alone. (via Fashion Blogger Matches Her Outfits to Artworks - artnet News)
Does technology makes us lose our sense of awe? When you reach a certain level of information things stop making sense or they become homogenized. To still be surprised or still be in awe in tech environments is something that previous romantics were struggling with. I think that’s frequently compounded by the high frequency of apathy that happens in technological environments. I often think about my [digital art] students, though not all of them are apathetic. They not only feel overwhelmed by access to our history, but I think they are overwhelmed by the amount of things that need to be considered and the amount of things that should be considered when being a responsible artist in the 21st century. It’s hard to parse out all the things you have to care about. As a result I think they reach a saturation point and a common response to that saturation is to think, “well, there’s nothing I can do.” On the Internet there’s a tendency to really value the individual voice and expression. But what happens when that’s multiplied by millions of people is that it’s hard to find individuality. That’s the origin of apathy. It comes from a culture that values individuality and young people not being able to find outlets to express that individuality outside Tumblr and Facebook. And that individuality isn’t just “I’m a special snowflake.” It’s more about being able to contribute meaningful thoughts and feelings about the context from which you’re coming. When you’re trying to represent your context among millions it gets lost in this stream. Over time, that leads to an apathetic tone.
Perfect Summer Days (1) morning, forenoon, noon
7:29am, I wake up after seven and a half hours of undisturbed sleep. I reach out for the alarm that would ring at 7:30am, happy to have beaten it, to have woken up at my own terms. I taste the memory of the last dream in my mouth; it was about ice-cream and a perfect summer day. I get up, raise the blinds, look outside. The sun is just up, blinking across the horizon, as if to tell me that this will be what I had dreamed about: a perfect summer day. Rare as they are, I learn to appreciate each of them for what it is – no more or less than a summer day, with nothing urgent to do, no one mandatory to see. This is my day, I am not sharing it with anyone. I feel lifted by joy, knowing that I have all of the day for myself, all of its 24 hours. I make coffee, I grab a half-full bottle of water from the fridge and mix my whey protein shake with the cold water, fill it up to the top with tap water. I sit at my desk for my liquid breakfast. It is 8:00am, still too early to stretch out on my balcony, for the sun will need another one and a half hours to rise high enough. I spend a few more minutes doing nothing, just happy to be awake instead of tired, and waiting for my mind to settle on the to-do items for the morning. I would not be a perfect summer day without the sense of having achieved something, small though as it may be, but all those tiny tasks I can tick off my endless to-do list, they create the momentum that allows me to move forward in my life. I answer a few e-mails, I make another cup of coffee, I delete some files and save others to one of my folders with inspirational pictures and articles, ripped out of magazines and photographed, as digitized memories of themselves. I consider taking a shower and going to the gym early, but the lazy morning embraces me and I decide to hit the gym in the afternoon.
Another cup of coffee and it is 9:30am. Those mornings are divided into little packets of time by the cups of coffee. I could make a whole can of coffee instead, but the rite of getting up from the desk, smelling the ground coffee, and pouring hot water over it into the simple coffee filter is something I just want to do over and over again. The sun is painting with light on my balcony. I grab my mat, my towel, and my balcony pillow. Hurriedly, I place my laptop and a few magazines outside, as well as my notebook and pens, just in case: if a sudden bolt of inspiration hits me, I am ready to write it down. I lie flat on my stomach, topless, and I feel how the sun warms my back. I close my eyes. I open my eyes and get up: I forgot the steaming cup of coffee in the kitchen. I sigh, but then I grin. I always forget something, I never lie still for more than thirty minutes in a row; there is always something to get, to do, or just the urge to stand up every now and then, just to make sure I am not still asleep. I skim through old magazines, free journeys through time that invite me to go back a couple of months or years, depending on how long those time capsules have been waiting in a drawer for me to pick them up. Every now and then, I rip out a page, or jot something down, not knowing whether I will ever make use of it. In most cases, I will look at those pages in a few days or weeks and wonder why I kept them. Fashion advice from seasons past, interviews with people who I no longer remember, photographs of models I wanted to use for drawings and paintings. But it all made sense at some point, so I am keeping most of those memories, digitized as they are, eating up the space in my Google Drive and Google photo galleries.
The church clock within earshot keeps me in the loop, but my growling stomach never fails to remind me of the time either. It mostly starts at 11am, when lunch is still an hour away, but a snack would ruin my appetite for it. So I roll over, take a sip from my latest cup of coffee; it must be the fifth or so, I do not keep track of them. If coffee is my poison, then so be it. I begin to think about what I could have for lunch, happy to know that my fridge never fails to satisfy my appetite. A fridge and kitchen cupboard full of groceries that can be turned into at least twenty different meals is a blessing and I take joy in marveling at the numerous options. I decide to cook scrambled eggs with sour milk cheese and some vegetables, a simple dish and not too heavy, just perfect to eat on the balcony, right out of the pan. I lie on my back, I watch the fluffy clouds that cover parts of the sun every now and then. I am sweating, the salty drops tickle my face. My skin is hot, but the forenoon sun is not enough to burn it. I let my thoughts wander, they jump from one thought to the next, leaving my brain dizzy from all the mental leaps. Or maybe I am just really hungry. At 11:45, I get up to cook my scrambled eggs; at 12:10, I am back on my balcony with the pan, a spoon, and a bottle of tomato sauce. I eat, nothing else matters.
I finish my eggs, I get up and hunt for dessert. I grab some curd cheese, two pieces of chocolate, and a carton of light soy milk, to which I add some sugar-free almond syrup. I gobble the creamy white dairy produce, then I slowly drink the soy milk. I enjoy the taste of the dark chocolate with fleur de sel. I lie down, full and happy.
Lesen ist eine Kunst, der Zwilling des Schreibens. Du kannst keine Literatur schreiben, wenn du nie die Kunst des Lesens praktiziert hast. Literatur ist Malerei, Bildhauerei, Architektur, Musik. Wenn Proust sagte, er würde eine Kathedrale bilden, ist das nicht nur eine Metapher. Je mehr du über die Komposition eines literarischen Werks weißt, desto mehr wirst du es genießen. Ein Text ist voller Geheimnisse. Du musst die Vögel in ihm singen hören, in ihrer ganzen Unterschiedlichkeit.
How Nicolas Sassoon Is Making GIF Art Physical
“GIFs appealed to me for their ability to create seamless loops,” Sassoon replied. He had been using videos in his work in art school, and was already very interested in the loop. Animated GIFs were a natural extension of that interest. (…)
“Computer technologies are a vector of fantasies for architectures, landscapes, interiors, domestic living,” Sassoon says, by way of introducing the “Mansions” series. “The collection of these models was motivated by the unclear outcome of these realistic virtual homes, sometimes designed to perfection and ready to be built. I am interested in the desire behind creating virtual architectures in a way similar to scale models; objects signifying something bigger than what they are, in a transitory state, existing between two worlds.”
Sassoon sees these objects—and computing in general—as similar to the practice of Bonsai or Suiseki, where miniature landscapes become sites of contemplation and embody our ideals. But he approaches narrative elements very cautiously.
Read more: news.artnet.com
Vogue // une quotation sur la mode (2012)
La mode, ses propositions radicales, ses décalages luxueux, ses coups de folie, ses états de grâce, sont [un] fil rouge (…). Comment l’interpréter ? Comment se l’approprier ? Du défilé à la réalité, [la mode] (…) invite à suirvre son instinct, à libérer son imagination. Du total look du créateur à la variation soft, taillée juste pour soi, c’est après tout une affaire d’invention personnelle. Comme de passer la frontière entre le jour et la nuit, le naturel des matins clairs et le glamour sophistiqué du soir.
(via Mind Bone » The “Jargon Watch” Terms That Stuck with Me) by Gareth Branwyn