(Let’s not pretend like I’ve done anything but listen to Negro Swan for the past week)
Lizzy Goodman on Dev Hynes “[His work is] also, in countless ways, the aural incarnation of a socially engaged, emotionally intelligent, multicultural, gender-fluid zeitgeist that’s now reaching the shores of mainstream pop.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched the video of Christian Flores attempting to land a Laser Flip Triple Set on his skateboard since I saw it pretty much exactly a year ago on kottke.org. I’m not going to give you the obvious speech about how this little clip is the embodiment of perseverance and hard work, although I will say I often watch it when I feel low and defeated, instead, let’s have a look at just why it is so compelling.
I enjoy watching skateboard videos in general but I’ve shown it to a lot of people who don’t and yet nobody seems able to escape the spell. It’s mesmerising. There are no visual thrills, just a camera quietly observing the same set of stairs on which our hero keeps trying to land his trick. At first, the repetition is captivating, almost soothing, but the protagonist is the real reason you can’t look away.
Christian is not famous and a Laser Flip Triple Set is not particularly difficult in the grand scheme of skateboard tricks. He’s not doing this to beat some sort of record. He is doing it for himself. His mission hits a nerve; in a world where everything is done for the approval of an audience, Christian doesn’t care who is watching. His visceral cries of pain and disappointment lay bare the kind of emotions usually reserved for the privacy of our own minds. We want him to succeed so badly, as if his victory could assure us that yes, everything is going to be ok in the end. When he does land the trick, he doesn’t start dancing joyfully like footballers do when they score an all-important equaliser. Instead, a wave of relief washes visibly over his face.
Amongst the warriors and geniuses, who invite us to marvel at their bravery and intellect, there is a different type of hero. A person like you and me, who sets out on a journey not to save the world our impress a princess, but to confront his own fears and fulfil his desires however small they might be. His journey will not bring him glory but it will quieten the inner voice trying to falsely convince him: you can’t do this. Could there be a more important mission?
Tom Fordyce captures the power of football and the emotions of a nation
“This is an England team that represents the England of 2018. The pale kid from Sunderland in goal, a midfielder from Milton Keynes with a Nigerian dad and English mum. Three big lads from south Yorkshire in defence, a striker born in Jamaica and raised in the scruffy part of west London. Another midfielder schooled in Lisbon, a superstar captain who learned on loan at Orient and Millwall.“
If you can’t be bothered to write a whole spec script, this is a great exercise in coming up with storylines that are not only true to character but also reflect on current issues.
Every time I read another tinder bio boasting about a potential suitor’s love of art, a weird sensation overcomes me. An unpleasant realisation I desperately want to repress: I’m not sure I like art. I love spending Sunday afternoons at the cinema, I have been known to watch 60 seasons of TV in a year and I can have a discussion about why Paul McCartney’s ‘yeah’ during George’s solo makes the Anthology version of Let it Be the best one but I’m not sure I like looking at paintings in air conditioned museums.
One of the first things I did after getting my driving licence at age 18, was pile a group of friends into my dad’s Vauxhall and drive 2h to see a Goya exhibition. I spent 4 years at art school looking at my housemates’ paintings and I’ve been a regular at Thursday night private views (ok, ok there’s free booze, you got me). But in the back of my mind I’ve always had this nagging feeling: do I really care? Did I honestly enjoy myself when elbowed past flocks of tourists to get a glimpse at the (underwhelmingly small) Mona Lisa?
Recently, I went to a large Modigliani retrospective at Tate Modern with my mum. The Italian painter, who spent most of his short life in early 20th century France, is best known for his provocative nudes. My mum loves him; she admires his distinct style, the slender faces of his sculptures, the rich colours of his nudes and the subtlety found in his later work about the south of France. When she asked me what my favourite part of the exhibition was I had to admit it was the VR installation, which let the viewer immerse themselves in Modigliani’s sparse artist studio. With the headset on, you could look around his world and learn facts about his life and listen to diary entries read by the made-up voice of the artist. Modigliani talks about how hopeful he originally felt in this altruistic space before he turned to alcohol. On the aisle in front of the viewer, a haunting self portrait of the artist, one of his last works.
I felt almost embarrassed that I didn’t marvel more at his compositions, his technique despite my extensive knowledge of art history and theory. I felt like an art school fraud.
But when I visited another exhibition I finally had an epiphany. I was at the Photographer’s Gallery looking at a series of polaroids German filmmaker and auteur Wim Wenders had shot between 1973-1983. I paused in front of a series of pictures taken from the top of the Empire State building, right at the time the twin towers were being built. I imagined Wenders, in his 20s, taking the lift up to the observation deck like thousands had done before and would do after him. I imagined the breezy air, the breathtaking sensation of seeing New York from above for the first time. And it struck me. What I love about art is its unique ability to experience another person’s life, in other words, to time travel in somebody else’s shoes. A painting, a photograph, a collage all make you see the world from a singular point of view in a singular point of time. I liked Modigliani’s VR installation for the same reason I liked learning about Picasso complementing his contemporary’s fashion sense or about Charles Eames relationship with his wife Ray.
(For me, film and TV are different in this respect. As highly collaborative effort they will always carry the fingerprints of writer, producer, director, art director, actors etc. (that’s what’s so great about them!) Fiction films also tend to tell a story detached from their environment (partially because they take forever to complete, I tell you). Dirty Dancing is the story of Baby coming of age in 1963 yet it was made in the 80s with a a lead actor that could hardly walk when Baby was allegedly carrying melons. Because of that (and because they need to “reach audience” and, well, make money) many films carry a certain timeless by addressing broad universal themes of identity, love, loss etc. But I digress and generalise, apologies).
Most of us welcome the opportunity to see the world with somebody else’s eyes, especially if that somebody is an artistic genius. It can be a educating learning about trials and tribulations of Van Gogh or to escape to the exciting world of Warhol’s Factory.
It is no surprise that exhibitions focusing on the artist’s life have been gaining popularity (most notably at the V&A who has produced truly inspiration portraits of Steve McQueen and David Bowie) Storytelling has clearly become essential to visual art and its experience, especially if we want to make art accessible to somebody who would rather spend time on their phone. In a world where we can access every painting ever created with a single click providing background and context offers a powerful way to get someone’s attention. How does knowing the story behind Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son change the perception we have of the artist and his work?
Contemporary artists harness this situation by creating multi-platform content not only for their art but also to show us the environment that has lead them create the work they do. Young artist like Petra Collins share their personal lives as well as their photographs on Instagram and collaborate with digital platforms to effectively share their personalities.
To give somebody the opportunity to immerse themselves in another person’s world does not only broaden our horizon but also offers perspective and inspiration for our own artistic practice.
London’s Chroma Yoga is “a revolutionary new approach to practising yoga. Combining light and colour therapy, soundscapes and bespoke natural scents to enhance the modern yoga experience.” The classes are held in a completely bare, white room with a paper-like structure on the ceiling that projects coloured light. There are classes in red, blue, orange, yellow, pink and chromatic (changing colour), each featuring a different style of yoga, from energising to restorative. I attended the red class, which the website describes as a “strong, powerful, dynamic class based on the energy giving properties of red light.” Despite being a yoga class regular, I often struggle to focus my attention fully on the practice at hand, so I was keen to try out a new approach.
First Impressions As I stepped into the small Shoreditch studio on a particularly grey and rainy day, I was immediately reminded of Carlos Cruz Diez’s Chromosaturation Light installation; while the reception area was immersed in subtle blues and greens, the yoga studio glowed in deep red. Being thrust into a space with such vivid colours really transported me into a different world. Seeing colours in such a pure and intense way, gave me a feeling of childlike excitement, similar to when you’re presented with a brightly coloured plate of food.
Once inside the studio, the red colour seemed less intense. There was a very pleasant and soothing sound, a mix of electronic chimes and white noise. With a few beginners amongst us the teacher, Letty Mitchell, explained that this is going to be a fast and strong class and that the room can get very hot so she advised us to take breaks whenever necessary. We start in child’s pose with our eyes closed. When I open my eyes again, I am suddenly engulfed in a sea of protruding, warm, red light. Impressive.
We begin with a few slow poses followed by a fast paced sequence before we finally finish with stretches and relaxation. Throughout, the light seems to intensify (from orangey-vermillion to bold, lava red) and the room heats up significantly, as if we were underneath a bright, blazing sun. The humming sound, that has been specifically designed for each class and is meant to imitate the natural breathing rhythm, remains steady in the background, helping the flow of the class.
Highlighting the principles of yoga practice through light What I felt most strongly was the unifying nature of the light. With their rise in popularity, yoga classes can often be a place to be seen and to envy the impressive skills of others instead of focusing on your own body and needs. Here, I didn’t notice the expensive workout clothes in the room and I could (almost) ignore the half naked man next to me. The light puts everyone on the same level by turning individuals into red-hued shapes, hereby bringing out the most important principles of yoga: focusing on one’s own body and mind while leaving the ego behind and surrendering to the group.
The light didn’t only take away the distractions of the other people in the room but also of the outside world. Being engulfed in the light and humming sound felt like being in the belly of the ship. Whereas other yoga studios in the city never quite manage to eliminate everyday noises (police sirens, screaming kids at the nearby playground), being in a completely red room with no distractions really helped transport me into a peaceful please where nothing else existed for an hour, leaving me truly refreshed and relaxed at the end.
Subconscious associations Red is often considered the colour of power and strong emotions (love but also anger) and, especially in this scenario, is thought of as bold and invigorating. But, of course, everyone has different preferences and feelings towards certain colours. I personally have very positive associations with red; it makes me feel calm and cosy. Throughout the class I noticed how many subconscious, red-related images ran through my mind: the glow of 70s 8mm films and of old New York street lights, the warmth of a fireplace or the sunset after a hot day at the beach. It felt as if the colour was adding a memory-layer to the class. By combining traditional yoga movements with the subconscious experience of colour, Chroma created a primal, sensual experience that connected me more closely to my mind and body than regular yoga class tend to.
I recently attended a Sensory Speed Dating event in London, run by Guerilla Science, an event company committed to connecting people through science. As the name suggests, Sensory Speed Dating takes the concept of speed dating (each woman gets a set amount of time to talk to each men) but adds exercises involving touch, smell, taste, movement and sound to the conventional small talk. Each participant receives a scorecard on which they can record whether they liked or disliked someone. Matches are revealed at the end.
Guided by a host, comedian and presenter Timandra Harkness, we were also encouraged to give a general response to each task by holding up “Turned on” or “Turned off” cards. As an added bonus, UCL scientist Dr Carmen Lefevre gave a brief background on the scientific background of each task.
The science of attraction As a first timer at any sort of dating event I was greeted by a truly bustling atmosphere. Everyone seemed really keen to interact, which felt highly unusual for Monday-Night-London. The presence of a South Korean camera crew, who were filming the event as part of a documentary about finding love, added to the palpable tension pervading the room. Timandra, however, calmed our nerves by pointing out that this isn’t a regular dating event that leaves you, most likely, with a crushing sense of disappointment. Instead, we were here to learn about the science of attraction, meeting someone is just an added bonus. Also a lot more women than men had shown up so for some of the tasks girls would have to be paired with girls limiting the chances of finding a match.
The very bright and definitely not romantic venue sadly didn’t exactly put me in the mood and the tasks themselves ranged from funny to awkward: whispering Shakespeare quotes into someone’s ear, feeding your partner vegetables from a shot glass, stroking someone’s arm, gazing into each other’s eyes, dancing to Jungle Boogie. I found it hard to leave any cynicism behind and truly give into the experiment.
Most of the scientific facts weren’t news to me (men find higher, feminine voices more attractive and vice versa) but some did spark my curiosity and I will probably keep them in mind for future dates. When it comes to looking at someone’s face, for example, men prefer feminine features women, however, do too! Overly masculine faces apparently signal infidelity and aren’t seen as relationship material.
Dating with all your senses Thanks to the awkward set up it was pretty difficult to focus purely on the carnal experience; once I had seen and talked to my opponent it was hard to judge my attraction to them purely by their smell or movement.
Nevertheless I did my best to immerse myself as much as possible. Instead of fixating on the other person’s appearance or job and more importantly the obsessive thoughts these things create in my own head, I tried to force myself to only focus on the task at hand and really experience somebody’s smell, touch etc. As I gazed longingly into my partner’s eyes (a girl) I noticed how her face slowly transformed, as cheesy as that sounds, from that of a stranger to a person. The games effectively removed me from the sensory overload of everyday life and let me perceive details that I would usually only experience subconsciously. Needless to say that this also put me out of my comfort zone, for example, when I had to dance with a stranger, something I wouldn’t otherwise attempt sober.
Creating vulnerability The tasks added an immediate sense of vulnerability to the dating process; something that is not only essential for an intimate relationship but that is also often missing on ordinary dates. Because we are used to impress people with our looks and other superficial details, we tend to overlook the primal aspects that might daw us to another person. But it becomes hard to keep up your façade when you’re feeding a stranger a cherry tomato or smell somebody’s neck.
This became most evident during the ‘touch’ exercise. As Dr. Lefevre explained, the hormones that are released when we touch somebody establish an immediate bond. It is the first sense we learn as a baby and the first human connection we make is through the touch from our parent. The more couples touch in their relationship the more secure they feel. When in doubt, being aware of these subtle indicators of attraction might help use understand who we really feel drawn to in the future.
It’s 2am in London. Most clubs have closed their doors for the night and the party goers are headed for their next obvious destination: the chicken shop. If you find yourself in Clapham Common on a night out, you’re in luck; the party doesn’t have to end just yet. Shalamar Chicken, right across Clapham Common station, is a South West London institution that has been offering succulent fried chicken for the past 40 odd years. But that’s not all that’s on the menu. On some nights, the shop doubles as the after party destination of choice for many locals and passer-by alike.
Whether they are tracking down criminals or manning the barriers at music festivals, the Met Police are here to make London safer for all of us. With their recognisable get-ups they are always on hand to help with matters big or small. But did you ever wonder, who are the people behind the uniform? Well, one police officer in particular leads a surprising double life. Halifax and Visa met up with PC Daniel Graham aka ‘Hot Bobby’ to reward this everyday hero for giving extra in his day job!
If you’ve ever been to a London Underground station at rush hour, you know what it’s like: overcrowded platforms, sweaty train carriages, and irritated commuters. Basically, it’s hell on earth.
Director Jenny Gage and cinematographer Tom Betterton have created the movie I have always wanted to make. All this Panic (Dogwoof) is the story of a group of girlfriends as they come of age in Brooklyn over the course of three years. The images are incredible; cinematic, rich, nostalgic. All this Panic evokes that warm, saturated summer-evening- Brooklyn we know from Dev Hynes’ music videos or Lena Dunham’s Girls. The girls’ style is impeccable, just like you’d expect from NYC teens. But of course that’s not really what this story is all about….
When I went to the preview screening at Hackney Picture House last week (as part of the Bechdel Test Fest), one of the protagonists, Olivia, attended the Q&A. She said that what drew her to Jenny and Tom and why she ultimately decided to take part in their very ambitious project, was that for the first time she felt like there were two adults who really listened to her. And listen they did. The film is filled with intimate conversations between the girls. The filmmakers don’t interrupt, don’t intrude, don’t judge. In fact the girls, and definitely the audience, ultimately forget they are even there.
There is a lot to say about the importance of listening in storytelling. Sage, the politically outspoken teen, laments the hyper-sexualisation of teen bodies. Everyone wants to look at us but nobody actually wants to hear what we have to say, she says. But only through paying close attention to our protagonists can we make something that is authentic and insightful. All this panic does a great job not to distract from the core of the story by focusing on how the girls’ lives changed through technology or how their race and social background influences their upbringing. Those things are all there but they take a back seat. Instead what we get to witness the girls’ ubiquitous struggle to finding their true self. As Ginger’s dad muses correctly: growing up is about finding out what is real and what is fake about you and hopefully carrying on with more of the real.
Jenny approached the project not with a fixed set of themes and ideas she wanted to explore or specific questions she wanted answered. Instead what motivated her to make this film was watching her neighbour’s daughters, Ginger and Dusty, wondering what was going on in their heads and whether their teen years were all that different from hers. I don’t know what she took away from it in the end but for me their struggles resonated on a very personal level. Like with any ensemble cast, identifying with one of the characters is inevitable. I myself used to be like Ginger. Headstrong, a dreamer yet confused and lazy. Crazy about boys, terrified of ageing and desperate to be cool. But despite all the all to familiar panic, it sure made me nostalgic for my teenage self; that confident, fearless person who did whatever made her happy. I should probably listen to her more often.
