I am the co-mother of two rabbits:
One of the bunnies with his girlfriend.
I share the duty, nay honour, with my housemate Mel. The thing about rabbits is they can sort of take you or leave you. I’ll walk into their room and they’ll come running over, happy to see me, but as soon as they realise I don’t have food they scamper back to their corner where they sit staring at me sullen and occasionally flipping me off. I am quite fond of them though so when I went in their room the other day and they’d disappeared I almost had a heart attack…I’ll leave you there momentarily to impart another story (we’ll come back to the rabbits).
When I was little (or at least littler) my mum used to work weekends at Haskins. While she was away my dad was in charge of me and my sister. One weekend when I was about four or five (I’m not sure–I can’t remember) my dad, being a working man himself, fell asleep on duty. In the midst of doing whatever it is five year-old me gets up to, I fell asleep at the bottom of the stairs. My sister (being a bit of pre-school prima donna) goes running into the living room where my Dad is busy dreaming of Michelle Pfieffer and shouts ‘Daddy Daddy Daddy! Alexis is dead!’ According to legend the first thoughts that flashed through my Dad’s mind after bolting off the armchair were “Oh shit what am I going to tell Carol?”.
I’ve always been slightly chagrined on this point until I found myself sans bunnies. My first thought was not ‘my poor bunnies’ but ‘Shit. I’ve lost the rabbits. Mel’s going to kill me.’ It’s funny what goes through one’s mind in time of crisis. On that point I don’t know anyone who, on being hit by a car, thinks “Goodness, I hope I remembered to put on clean pants this morning”.
Which brings me seamlessly around the corner to strange things your parents say. One of my favourites was always “If you fall out that tree and break both legs don’t come running to me.” Or the ubiquitous “Well if your friends all jumped off a cliff, would you?” To which a rather ingenious friend of mine always replied “Why would my friends jump off a cliff?”
My Nanny always used to say “Make sure you always clean the house before you go out because you don’t know who you’ll bring back with you.” I told my friend this as we were on our way out for the evening to which she replied ‘Wow. Your Gran’s pretty cool.” Somehow I don’t think Nanny meant it in that way… She’s also quite fond of saying ‘It’s the sort of rain that wets you’. As if there’s another kind.
Another favourite was something my Grandfather used to say. It was somehow supposed to mean that he wasn’t clairvoyant but he used to say ‘I’m not Sidney Piddington, you know’. Who is Sidney Piddington? I have no idea.
There are also those people who say things like ‘ooh is that the time?’ No it’s a bucket of fish. Why ask!? And never EVER, if you value your life, say ‘Cheer up it might never happen’ in my vicinity because chances are if I look a bit grumpy it’s because it already has happened.
Oh, and the bunnies were fine…they had wedged themselves into an obscure corner.
Probably one of the coolest pieces of art around is Auguste Rodin’s The Gates of Hell. It’s a six by four metre high sculpture depicting “The inferno” which is the first section of Dante’s Divine comedy. It contains 180 figures ranging from 15cm to 1 metre writhing around in eternal agony. It was commissioned for the Decorative Arts Museum in 1980 and supposed to be finished in 1985 (a little optimistic) but Rodin was to continue working on it for 37 years until he died.
The decorative Arts Museum was never built and the plaster original is now found in the Musée Rodin in Paris. In 1917 a model was also used to make three bronze casts which are in Musée Rodin, Paris; Rodin Museum in Philadelphia and the National Museum of Western Art in Tokyo.
Something not many people know (or at least I didn’t know) is that The Kiss was original part of the Gates but later taken out by Rodin as they weren’t in keeping with the rest of the figures.
The Kiss
The Thinker is also featured at the top of the gates looking down on the rest of the figures. It’s unclear as to who he represents but some say it’s supposed to be Adam looking down on the pain and destruction he caused with his sin but if that’s the case, where’s Eve? Lord knows no one lets us forget it was all Eve’s fault (never mind the fact that Adam was too whipped to say no). According to some, Adam and Eve were originally supposed to be framing the doors but Rodin lacked the funds to complete them.
At the top of the doors there is an inscription that reads “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate” which means “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” taken from Canto 3 of the Inferno. I think you’ll agree with me when I say: Creepily awesome.
On a by-note it also features in the movie The Haunting where all the figures start moving around in a freaky sort of way. Very cool.
The Mona Lisa is the world’s most recognisable painting. I’m not sure anyone will argue with me on that point but what I can’t figure out is why she’s so famous. For a long time there was a lot of speculation as to who the subject of the portrait actually was. Some even believing it was a self portrait (oh how I love conspiracy theories). In fact her name was Lisa Del Giacondo. In 2005, a library expert found a footnote in one of Mr. Da Vinci’s works which indicated the sitter was the wife of wealthy silk merchant Francesco Del Giacondo. The painting was commissioned for their new home and the celebration of their second son, Andrea. Mona is simply a polite form of address like ‘ma’am’.
There’s a fair amount of myth and folklore attached to Lady Lisa. Her ‘enigmatic’ smile is the subject of a lot controversy. What’s she smiling about? Is she smiling? If you look at her eyes it looks like she’s smiling but if you look at her mouth it doesn’t. She also has a rather eerie peculiarity of making it look like her gaze follows you around the room. She has no visible facial hair—including eyebrows and eyelashes. Some researchers claim that it was common at this time for genteel women to pluck them out, since they were considered to be unsightly. To us modern people though, who quite like our eyebrows thank you very much, it just adds to her semi-freaky appearance.
She’s also managed to drum up a certain amount of contempt. For some reason there are people who seem to dedicate a lot of effort to vandalizing her. She’s had acid sloshed at her and at one point some neanderthal threw a rock at her (use your words, people). As such she’s now protected behind bullet proof glass. Some people even claim it’s not the real painting that’s on display (I wouldn’t be surprised).
So why she’s so famous? Well it beats me. I’ve been to see her twice and I can’t for the life of me actually remember the encounter so it’s not like she blew me away or anything. Granted, Leonardo Da Vinci was a genius but what makes her more special than his other paintings? I honestly tried to find out but it seems no one really knows. The strongest argument is because there’s so much mystique surrounding her or as some brainiac pointed out:
“…she’s not pretty at all…i think its just cause Leonardo Devinchi painted it…and it was one of the best hand done paintings at the time…i don’t know…i don’t really think its anything special…”
Brilliant…really brilliant.
Oh and a big fat gold star for the first person to tell me what’s so special about my title.
I like learning new things and on a bit of a whim I thought I’d cement my spinster status and take up a bit of knitting. Here’s me with my first creation.
It's a scarf...and that's me with the silly face.
It’s not actually my very first creation because it took me a few tries to realize I’d been adding stitches on to the end of my row (god knows how) so the resulting fabric looked like it had been exposed to nuclear radiation and if it’d been able to talk would have gone ‘Kill. ack. me’ so I did the only humane thing and unravelled it.
My pathetic attempts, however, pale in comparison to 45 year-old knitting enthusiast Alison Murray who has knitted an entire house…like you do.
It has a metal frame but apart from that and it’s wooden doors and windows it’s comprised of of 10 inch squares of wool sewn together. All its furniture is knitted as well: The bed, dresser, chairs, pictures, table and even the stove, as well as household goodies like sweets, cakes and biscuits.
You might be wondering what on earth would possess someone to undergo such a task but you’ll be pleased to know it’s all in a good cause. All the money raised from its viewing were donated to Great Ormond Street Hospital (for the Americans among you that’s a Children’s Hospital). And she did have some help…about 500 men and women from the UK, Canada and the US helped to contribute.
Maybe that can be my next project. Bit of a bugger if it rains though.
I have a vague recollection of making a promise at some point or another that you’d “see here first” my Graphic Novel. As such, I’d like to share with you a painting I did of my main character. I was about to put it on DeviantArt but then remembered my loyal followers (that’s you) and thought I’d stick it up here first. Please bear in mind it’s my first time doing digital painting and I know it’s not great but practice makes perfect.
***********Disclaimer************
I do not in any way condone art theft. The following is meant for entertainment purposes only and not to be taken seriously (that’s a pretty good rule of thumb for me anyway). I will be WELL annoyed if anyone goes and steals something and their defence is ‘Lex told me to do it’. Not cool.
So as promised, I thought I’d have a little chat about art thievery. It’s quite a prominent problem in the art world. Mostly because unless a painting is incredibly valuable, they’re not guarded with great vehemence. After all, if you keep a painting behind a steel door no one can see it. Security in art museums is pretty slack anyway and it’s only after a painting has been stolen that they tend to crank it up (bolting the stable door anyone?). Also there’s a pretty good success rate; only 5% of stolen paintings get recovered. Generally though, paintings that are recovered, ironically, tend to go up in value. I have an inkling there maybe a few sneaky artists out there stealing their own paintings…
My favourite theft has to be the Mona Lisa in 1911. It was stolen by a museum worker who one night before closing hid in a broom cupboard. He then snuck out, cut the painting out of its frame, stuffed it up his shirt and walked out. The theft wasn’t detected for a couple of days as people saw the empty space but assumed that it had been taken for cleaning (murgh).
See? This is the level of intellect we’re dealing with. Piece of pie.
So if thievery is your thing, art museums are a pretty good bet as compared to banks and jewellery heists it’s relatively easy; all you really need is a hand gun to dissuade any would-be heroes from tackling you to the ground and kicking the no-good snot out of you. Don’t worry too much about the guards. They’re hardly at the top of their game; most of the guards at the National Gallery appeared to be over fifty so you can probably out run them. They don’t have the super duper high-tech laser stuff you see on the TV either. It’s just too expensive.
So here are a few tips:
• If possible get a job as a security guard and do an inside job.
• Go for small paintings (they’re easier to carry). Hefting out Whistlejacket might raise suspicion.
• Aim for less well known museums—the security won’t be as tight.
• Take the time to cut the painting out the frame—Frames aren’t worth anything. They’re bulky and usually bolted to the wall.
• Don’t steal a painting that has been stolen before (security will be heightened)
• Try creating a distraction. Take your granny along and push her down the stairs or something.
• Make sure you know the way out. Running around in circles will likely get you caught.
• Avoid revolving doors!
And now I’m probably being watched by the FBI after all the research I did. Good times.
In case you don’t know me, I adore Jeremy Irons. I have done for as long as I’ve know who he is. It’s not a romantic thing (as he’s a couple of years older than my dad) but an ‘ohmygoshiloveyou’ sort of thing. The kind of crazy idolisation one can only have for a person you’ve never met. I think it’s his voice that gets me. It’s just so English and growly and wonderful. If I were a man I’d want to be like Jeremy Irons because he is the perfect man. It’s just a shame he’s sixty and, you know, would probably think I was crackers if he ever met me.
But one of my favourite things is that he just so happens to have appeared in the screen adaptation of one of my favourite books ‘Lolita’ by Vladimir Nabakov. It’s an incredibly beautifully written book. If you can overcome the fact that the main theme is Humbert Humbert’s unrequited love for his twelve-year old step daughter, I recommend you read it. Here’s a little snippet:
“My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.”
It’s just brilliant. There’s something about Russian writers. They seem to have a way with words.
The movie’s also pretty good (again, if you don’t mind the paedophilia). It’s expertly cast: The (incomparable) Jeremy Irons as Humbert Humbert, Melanie Griffiths as Big Haze and Dominique Swain as feisty Lolita.
So anyway, all this is basically leading to me telling you I’ve got my scanner working and I thought I’d celebrate by sharing a picture I’ve just finished of (you guessed it) Jeremy Irons because on top of everything else he’s so much fun to draw.
I used to live in Dubai. It rains maybe once or twice a year and when it rains, it pours, and it usually floods. One year our pump room got flooded so we (ironically) had no water for about five days and had to shower at a nearby hotel. This year the weather has outdone itself and there were the most amazing thunderstorms. In Dubai, as you may or may not know they’re in the process of building the world’s tallest building called the Burj Tower. It’s basically one big lightning conductor and I’ve been sent some really terrific photos. I’d like to share them with you.
I had a Saturday off so decided to go a-wandering in the National gallery. It’s been a while since I’ve been to an art gallery. I think the last one I was in was the Hermitage in St. Petersburg and the only thing I can remember were the huge chandeliers which the tour guides were supposedly told not to let their tour groups stand under ‘just in case’. I’m a big fan of the Natural History Museum; I’ve been about five times in the last year and a half but have never got along with art museums. Probably because I was dragged around them as a child in a vain attempt to make me ‘cultured’. I don’t care what anyone says, you can’t inject culture into a twelve year old. But, I have since developed a penchant for learning and thought a little trip to an education centre might be in order.
I was pleasantly surprised. A little like shopping, I feel you only really reap the benefits if you go on your own; you don’t have to wait for someone else to go looking at a piece you’re frankly not interested in. Also you really can’t appreciate these paintings until you’ve seen them in the flesh (so to speak). A postcard really doesn’t do them justice.
However, I have to say some artists are remarkably bad at painting. Van Gogh in particular really annoyed me. Call me a philistine but I really don’t get the attraction. The painting of his room looks like a twelve year old drew it. The perspective’s all screwy and as a comic artist this disturbs me greatly. I can understand that it’s ‘impressionist’ and supposed to look crappy but still. The sunflowers don’t look like sunflowers. They don’t even look like an impressionist idea of sunflowers. They look like dead daffodils.
See what I mean?
I realised I was being a little narrow-minded so I decided to do a little reading into it to see if he really was the talentless hack I had him painted as (pun, as always, intended). Again, I was pleasantly surprised. Some of his art is actually quite beautiful and it makes me wonder why it’s the rubbish ones that are remembered. Here are some of my favourites:
Wheat Field with Cypresses, 1889
Cafe de nuit
And it turns out he’s not rubbish at perspective:
A view from his room in The Hague
Vincent Van Gogh could have given Edvard Munch a run for his money in the gloomies though. His last words were ‘the sadness will last forever’, whether in regards to his own death (a little presumptuous) or in reference to his own sadness; I’m not sure. He definitely had a serious bout of the crazies which culminated when he stalked his friend Paul Gauguin with a razor. Gauguin, the fair weather friend, then deserted him. Shortly after, Van Gogh cut off the lower part of his ear and gave it to a prostitute named Rachel asking her to “keep this object carefully” (Obviously in the days before Milk Tray). In 1890 he walked into a field and shot himself in the chest which, for some reason, he didn’t think was fatal (durgh) and died two days later. It was believed his brother died a short while later ‘because he was not able to come to terms with the absence of his Vincent’. It was later revealed by his family that he actually died of syphilis. Not quite as poetic.
And if anyone sends me a message saying ‘Gogh’ is actually pronounced ‘Gogh as in Loch’ and not ‘Gogh as in flow’ they will suffer my wrath.
******warning********
The following contains some really cheap poo-related jokes. If you’re of a sensitive disposition or don’t like the idea of your little girl using such language (Dad, that’s you). Then I advise you not to read on.
This little gem is a ‘piece of art’ by 60s artist Piero Manzoni. The tin reads ‘Merda d’artista’ which is Italian for ‘Artist’s shit’. The tins (supposedly) contain 30 grams of Manzoni’s own excrement…Exactly what it says on the tin then.
The Tate, yes the Tate, shelled out £22,300 in 2000 for a tin of the fabled doo-doo. They bought No. 4 of 90 cans (There are 90 of them!!) made by Manzoni. In 2007 a buyer paid £84,000 at an auction in Milan for tin No. 18.
So at £20-80,000 a pot, Piero ‘my shit doesn’t smell’ Manzoni was, it seems, sitting on a goldmine (pun intended). It’d be great to try and pitch that to the Dragon’s Den. “Hello. I need £20 for tins and toilet paper. I’m going to sell “poo in a can”.
And it gets better! Apparently they have a tendency to explode. Just imagine! “I have bought this tin of poo for £20,000. It is a great investment. I will…*bang* Oh. It has exploded. I am covered in art.” Personally, I think if you shell out £20,000 for what is, essentially, shit; you deserve to have it explode on you. Seriously. What kind of person sees a tin of crap for £20,000 and goes ‘ooh what a bargain’?
Despite (obvious) opposition, the Tate said that its can remained valid as a piece of art and has described it as a seminal work. No. It’s a tin of poo. Get it right.
And just because I can’t help myself:
Journalist: So what do you think of this particular piece?
Art critic: It’s shit.
