Archive for November, 2009|Monthly archive page

LSD and Art

In 1 on November 29, 2009 at 4:25 pm

Doctors dispensed it as therapy. It meant that there was a lot of early experimentation.

This is a series of drawings  made by a volunteer on acid, of his monitoring doctor.

He made them every hour or so. Look how he sees the doctor in a different way each time!

My favourite is the bottom left hand one.

The patient said of the bottom left -hand one “This will be the best drawing, Like the first one, only better. If I’m not careful I’ll lose control of my movements, but I won’t, because I know. I know”. you can see where he’s thinking clearly, and when he’s not.

Pretty intesting huh?


This is what you see behind your eyelids. Not that I would know.

Its not surprising that so many people got ‘inspired’

Check out this poem by Henri Michaux: I dont think you have to understand the French to get the idea…

Henri Michaux, Plume (précédé de Lointain intérieur), Gallimard, 1963.

Télégramme de Dakar

Dans le noir, le soir,

auto dans la campagne.

Baobabs, Baobabs,


Plaine à baobabs.

Baobabs beaucoup de baobabs


près, loin, alentour,

Baobabs, Baobabs.

Dans le noir, le soi,

sous les nuages bas, blafards, informes,

loqueteux, crasseux,

en charpie, chassés vachement

par vent qu’on ne sent pas,

sous des nuages pour glas,

immobiles comme morts sont les baobabs.

Malédiction !

Malédiction sur CHAM !

Malédiction sur ce continent !


village endormi

village passe

De nouveau dans la plaine rouverte : Baobabs

Baobabs baobabs Baobabs

Afrique en proie aux baobabs !

Féodaux de la Savane. Vieillards-Scorpions.

Ruines aux reins tenaces. Poteaux de la Savane.

Tam-tams morbides de la Terre de misère.

Messes d’un continent qui prend peur.





Noirs combien plus noirs que de hâle

Têtes noires sans défense avalées par la nuit.

On parle à des décapités

les décapités répondent en « ouolof »

la nuit leur vole encore leurs gestes.

Visages nivelés, moulés tout doux sans appuyer

village de visages noirs

village d’un instant

village passe

Baobabs Baobabs

Problème toujours là, planté.

Pétrifié – exacerbé

arbre-caisson aux rameaux lourds

aux bras éléphantiasiques, qui ne sait


Oh lointains

Oh sombres lointains couvés par d’autres


Baobabs, Baobabs, Baobabs

Baobabs que je ne verrai jamais

répandus à l’infini. Baobabs.

Parfois s’envole un oiseau, très bas, sans élan,

comme une loque

Un Musulman collé à la terre implore Allah

Plus de Baobabs.

Oh mer jamais encore aussi amère

Le port au loin montre ses petites pinces

(escale maigre farouchement étreinte)



Plus de baobabs



Peut-être jamais plus






Anish Kapoor at The Royal Academy

In 1 on November 29, 2009 at 3:30 pm

This exhibition was packed. I had to peer over hundred of heads to get a peek at the advancing train carriage of what.

But what a mass of red wax. It moves slowly through the neo-classical doorway. There are splats of red wax on the surrounding walls – I can’t help but feel sorry for the cleaners.

The interview with Anish Kapoor didn’t impress me as much as his work – You “dont have anything in particular to say to the world”?


If he doesn’t have anything to say to people, then how can he explain the cannon? It seemed to have such a clear message… or maybe that was just me.

I waited for ten minutes in a narrow, crowded waiting area. Heart beating in anticipation. Theatrically, a man in black overalls saunters to the cannon. Slowly, he winds it up, places the can of wax. The clinks of the cannon being set up are avidly listened to by the spectators. Before it, we see a pile of burgandy wax through the dooway. It look like concealed blood.

We begin to wonder what kind of bang it will make, when is he going to

BAM it fires and leaves a hole in my stomach. We all involuntarily cheer at ‘our’ addition to the pile of blood.

To me, the theatrics are proof that Anish Kapoor wanted to draw that reaction out of us. He wanted us to cheer – and then feel strange. And make us question, does everybody deep down enjoy violence?

If this was what most of the spectators felt, then surely Anish has a profound message about our society, and what lies beneath.

The Best of Edible Fashion – Jean Paul Gaultier

In Contemporary Art, Fashion on November 17, 2009 at 11:53 pm

The Best of Edible Fashion


Breasts in dough, corsets out of breadsticks – every man’s dream really.



In Fashion on November 17, 2009 at 11:06 pm

Either I am getting premature cataracts, or I am getting blinded by the gleaming studded high-street every day when I walk to school.

Studs are symbols of rebellion, a harsh statement of non-conformity. Only punks in Camden could pull them off, loving the points and whispers from curious day-trippers. A spiked and studded girl would be given a space through a crowd – lest she stab you with her tongue piercing, or something equally terrifying.

Then once upon a time, a skinny self-appointed indie bought a studded jacket on Brick Lane. Much to the awe of the other aspiring alternatives, so they all followed suit. Being indie is being individual, no? But anyway, that is a different post.

A couple of years later, and no one gives a girl in a studded jacket a second glance. Thank you Topshop.

Lame dress.

Do these girls even understand that by following a fashion of wearing studs, they are destroying their very appeal?

Being alternative has become a style in itself. That’s a contradiction in terms!

But stop.

Wait just a second.

Punks are all dressed the same, so… they conform too…