Utsukushii

Once upon a time, I lived on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. On weekends we visited the beach and swam in the nearby waters and then returned home to live the same kind of life that anyone anywhere lives -- an interior life. But flying into the local airport revealed the true nature of our experience. The water did not belong to the tiny rock we lived on. The tiny rock existed at the mercy of a vast, all consuming ocean.

For over a year I worked at an art gallery, selling paintings to Japanese tourists. I learned a few pleasantries and greetings, but the most important word I learned was utsukushii. Beautiful.

May beauty soon return to a land that has weathered many a storm.

All photographs by Michael Kenna.

Hiroshi Sugimoto

Long ago, in a far away land, as a naive student working in practical isolation I made photographs of natural history dioramas only to discover that someone else had done the same thing years before me. Then I made simple black and white photographs of the ocean, only to discover that someone else had already made them (and much more elegantly). In short, Hiroshi Sugimoto is my photographic father. His work pokes at the root of my twin concerns: time and perspective. He's also a prodigious badass with almost four decades of experience making pretty pictures. The decor world has taken note.

His theater series was shot by exposing an entire movie on a single sheet of large format film. The result is blinding, as if every neural synapse has fired simultaneously. The architecture is stunning -- a reminder of a bygone era, and although these images were largely shot in the 70s, they seem to presage a time when the collective viewing of a film has passed. The sense of loss is palpable.

The seascapes may be his best knows works. Reduced to the singular properties of water and air, they are visually calming but intellectually startling. As Sugimoto points out, the probability of existence for these two elements -- responsible for our evolution (or devolution) -- is mind bogglingly slim. And yet we search for another planet just like ours.

And then there are the waxworks. In a perfect imitation of Flemish painting (itself meant to conjure a perfect imitation of life), Sugimoto condenses the life and death of history's most important personages into a single split second, frozen like flies in amber. The vast majority of us have never known these people save through reproduced evidence. A photograph, much like celebrity, keeps us at arm's length.

Most recently, Sugimoto has composed a body of work that hints at the core nature of analog photography.

Using Van Der Graaf generators and Tesla coils, Sugimoto records each electrical impulse making its way across a piece of large format film. This reminds me of how I destroyed my graphing calculator in high school physics class (Tesla coil + expensive calculator = angry parents), but more importantly it gives hope to us anachronists.

Maybe film won't go extinct.

There may yet be a reason for me to bust out my ancient large format camera and toss a black hood over my head.

[David Netto, Peter Marino, Elle Decor, Nero Chronicles, MFAMB, photo of Sugimoto via NYT]

Would You Like Some LSD With That?

Whip out your empire shades, rolled arm sofas and deco breakfronts, because neo trad is all the rage. I saw this coming a while ago and had no problem embracing the equestrian chic aspect of Waspy decor -- mile high hundred year old paintings of daddy's hunting dogs? check. Tobacco stained chesterfields lodged deep within hazy, dark paneled libraries? check. And then there is the toile... times a zillion.

However, I suppose I've generally maintained a sense of irony regarding traditional decor -- if done it must be done to the maxxxxxx. I mean, I'm young... ish. I even used to have a nose ring (it was the late 90s... ok, maybe I'm not so young anymore). Anyway, I don't do stuffy. But I do see a new path for me in the neo trad world. It's still crackers, but far more achievable than adopting an overblown, waspy ritalin chic aesthetic.

I shall dub this Acid Wasp.

This is the gist: furnishings are pretty and traditional/transitional. Candelabras are welcome. But if the furnishings are safe, the art must be risky. Crazy. Downright psychedelic. More like this:

Yes.

Andy Gilmore, you have obviously indulged in the wide world of psychotropic drugs and I think your Vasarely-ish art would be supah floss with a poufy skirted sofa and a fringed lamp. Throw in an antique curved burlwood coffee table and I am in love.

As much as I would love to make this moodboard (can you dig it?), I have to put away my acid dreams and do some real work right now. Also, today is Ike's first day at daycare preschool, and I need to pull myself away from the hypnotrance inducing insanity of these pictures.

It would not do for mommy to arrive at the center with swirly eyes and drool caked at the corners of her mouth. That would not be traditional at all.