EST. 2009

November 2, 2016

Those Scar Cymbals

 









A DEEP VIBRATIONAL HUM FILLS THE MAIN HALL OF THE ZABLUDOWICZ COLLECTION, a former methodist chapel in North London. At the chancel is a glass house of sorts, aglow in LED, with plywood ladders leading up to each of its four stories. At the center of the room, a platform resembling a brain is covered in fine, white sand. There is paint smeared on the walls.

Medium density fibreboard encase Kaoss pads and speakers at the back of the room. An acrylic panel rises from it. From here comes the vibrational hum, turned on and off by models loitering about. Their skin is painted in natural pigments including turmeric, coffee and clay, which stain their surroundings upon contact; an "inescapable residue of touch" rendering acrylic surfaces opaque over time.

Scar Cymbals is Donna Huanca's first solo exhibition in the United Kingdom. The installation-performance hybrid features elements from her exploration of the surfaces of identity, as well as the interface between bodies and objects. While showcasing Huanca's unique visual aesthetic, Scar Cymbals is primarily sensual, at the same time sacramental, with sculptures that respond to the chapel's architecture, and daily performances that reference the functions of the skin.

Catch the show for a neon-stained meditation-sensation challenging your instinctive reaction to flesh.

Scar Cymbals by Donna Huanca at the Zabludowicz Collection, zabludowiczcollection.com Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.

October 18, 2016

That Persona







NAMED AFTER THE LATIN WORD FOR MASKS WORN BY ACTORS IN ANTIQUITY, Ingmar Bergman's Persona deals with the guises people create to satisfy the demands of their environment. The term contrasts directly with "anima" which pertains to the inner personality or soul.

Persona's two protagonists embody these two opposing concepts. Elisabet is a stage actress who one day ceases to speak, not due to any physical or mental illness, but out of sheer willpower. Alma is her carer, a young nurse who candidly shares not only thoughts and emotions, but even scandalous secrets.

The two women spend time at a seaside cottage, in utter silence, save for Alma's carefree intimations. Real events blur with what could be interpreted as dream sequences, in metaphorically-rich scenes of two identities oscillating between similarity and distinction. At the outset, Elisabet's fa├žade renders her very different to Alma, but their interface, as well as clues throughout the film, erode the actress' guise, revealing an inner world that mirrors and melds with that of her companion.

Persona has been widely analyzed and critiqued, with Bosley Crowther's New York Times review describing it as "a veritable poem of two feminine spirits exchanging their longings, repressions, and mental woes against a background of natural beauty." Details have also been examined, as in Thomas Elsaesser's piece for Criterion, which notes the link Bergman makes between hands and the face, that "are everywhere in Persona: hands reaching out to caress or slap faces, or covering their own faces; even the photo of the Warsaw ghetto boy with his hands raised is scrutinized by the camera for hands and faces."

I was particularly fascinated by Persona's visual composition of juxtaposed profiles and superimposed faces, that even outside of their symbolism result in meticulous, elegant arrangements. And in light of shedding guises, I must also express my trivial appreciation for the film's sartorial aspect. Turtle necks, boater hats and that gorgeous chain link bangle. Not bad distractions through 84 minutes of psychological drama.

Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullman in Persona, 1966. Directed by Ingmar Bergman.

September 29, 2016

That Zurier Sky





THE FIRST PAINTING DILEMMA THAT REALLY ENGAGED JOHN ZURIER was that of painting the sky seen between two buildings, so that the entire painting would be nothing but an empty blue space. He found the task nearly impossible, putting it off for a long time, with his artistic concerns nearly unchanged since.

There's no evidence of struggle in his work though, which incorporate a delicate human touch into atmospheric depictions. The pale blue canvases from his Muuratsalo/Finland series evoke feelings of escape with glimpses of daytime sky. Notable in the paintings are wisps of unpainted canvas, seemingly suggestive of clouds. Zurier's other works, such as those in Night, are more densely painted, as if portraying the weight of darkness. The contrast makes his sensitivity to atmosphere even more apparent.

Hardly a fan of fleeting, electric sunsets, I am drawn to flat skies in muted tints. Light blues, I associate with flight. Grey skies, contemplation. That is, until a spell of cabin fever dawns and any glimpse of sky is a cure. A pale, blue Zurier may be a good indoor alternative.

Paintings from Muuratsalo/Finland by John Zurier, johnzurier.com

September 14, 2016

That Desert Pause












IT'S THE KIND OF SILENCE YOU GET DURING A BLACKOUT, naturally, as La Pause chooses not to run on electricity. Sparsely luxurious, the retreat comprises traditional mud-and-straw lodges set on secluded mounds and slopes. A Berber tent cluster provides common areas for lounging and dining, with arid landscape views interrupted only by a Jerome Leyre sculpture.

Just over an hour's drive from the busy Medina, La Pause requires some bumpy-riding through parched, roadless and barren land, where local villages are said to have been driven out by lack of water. The complex is lush though, built around an oasis of palm and olive trees. The gardens grow grapes and such urban staples as rocket and alfalfa, which come with your meal.

Entertainment and activities of a very wide variety can be arranged, including donkey polo, rally car racing, calligraphy and meditation workshops, fire-eating and fantasia horse shows, among others. We opted to lounge and dine, as one can never have too much tagine or over-sprawl in a sun-dappled shade. The Agafay desert, just gazing at it, is quite phenomenal too.

It's trendy, and not a new trend at that, but I find it artful nonetheless to extract elegance out of what is otherwise rugged. Nourished by a little river, the only source of life for miles, La Pause embodies "less is more" and proves itself an unconventional escape from traditional luxuries.

La Pause, Agafay desert, Morocoo. lapause-marrakech.com Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.




DESERT PAUSE IS THE THIRD IN A SERIES OF ESSAYS ABOUT MARRAKECH.

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August 16, 2016

That Moroccan Miscellanea















I COULD HEAR THE WATER RUNNING DOWNSTAIRS. Where had that palm branch fallen from? The foliage looks just as lush. At the souks, we found ourselves under a hammam, where a worker paused to chant for us. He plucked a small string instrument, turning his head so that the tassel of his fez spun above it. I thought we would all go into a trance.

Zellige they're called: the enamel-coated terra cotta tilework setting little chips like jewels on the floor. Introduced by the Persians, they manage to be geometric and floral all at once. Our guide took my shoes and hid them in a bush. The Palmeraie was scorching and my camel was slightly unpredictable. Her name was Shakira. The other camel, Beyonce. I rode half an hour barefoot, thinking I had lost my shoes forever. How did he know which bush it was? They all looked the same.

The Bahia Palace was built for the wives and concubines of Ba Ahmed, grand vizier of Marrakech in the 1800s. It took fifteen years to complete, by craftsmen imported from Fez. Stretches of white, intricately dotted with greens, blues and yellows, covered its large courtyards and galleries, contrasting greatly with the strong salmon shades outside. The Saadian Tombs has its fair share of pink walls too, albeit less of a feature than the mausoleum's muqarnas made with pure gold.

We stayed at Riad Due in the Medina, where tall, nondescript walls conceal exquisite interiors. From the roof, you could see the Koutoubia Mosque, the largest Mosque in Marrakech, completed under the reign of the Berber Almohad Caliph Yaqub al-Mansur. Moroccan skies at sunset are on fire.

I'm not in fact intoxicated as I write this, though it might sound like I am. Marrakech was so saturated with heat, scent, sound and color, it was hypnotic. And my memory of it, episodic. As holidays take different forms, enriching its takers in different ways, this particular trip provided an escape from my life's new routines and requirements.

Dehydration may have contributed to the daze. One of our riad's hosts said sugar is good to help you stay hydrated though I did decline sugar in my mint tea a couple of times. I also survived what seemed to be the world's best carpet sales team, who dazzled us with layers upon unfurling layers of fine Berber handicraft. Women weavers from the Atlas Mountains design the carpets from imagination, crafting each one for up to decades at a time.

I've done a myriad of things in the past decades, though nothing nearly as precious as a handmade work of art. There are some whose lifetimes fortunately revolve around something so exquisite and singular. For the rest of us, it's a matter of finding gems in the miscellanea.

Bahia Palace, Palmeraie, Saadian Tombs, the Medina and Riad Due, Marrakech. Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.




MOROCCAN MISCELLANEA IS THE SECOND IN A SERIES OF ESSAYS ABOUT MARRAKECH.

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