Category Archives: art

Warhol’s Underwear

I quickly found the brand I usually use, Jockey Classic Briefs. They were three for five dollars which didn’t seem too inflationary. I read the label on the plastic bag they came in, just to make sure they hadn’t changed any of their famous ‘Comfort Features’ – ‘Exclusive Tailoring for Proper Fit to Support a Man’s Needs; Contoured Designed Arch Gives Added Comfort No Gaps; Support Waistband is Smoother Fitted Heat Resistant; Stronger Longer Lasting “V” No Chafe Leg Openings; Soft Rubber at Either Thigh Only; Highly Absorbent 100 Per Cent Highly Combed Cotton.’ So far so good, I thought. I checked the ‘Washing Instructions’ – ‘Machine Wash Tumble Dry.’ Everything was fine, the same as always. I hate it when you find a product you like that fits a particular need of yours, and then they change it. […] At least the Jockey Classic Briefs were still Classic.

—Andy Warhol, From A to B & Back Again: The Philosophy of Andy Warhol

A Salve on Our Communal Doubt

Technology acts as a salve on our communal doubt. ‘Will they like me?’ ‘Will I be accepted?’ ‘Are my teeth white enough?’ ‘Buy this and you’re OK!’ Can you imagine Picasso asking, ‘Will they like this painting?’ Or Van Gogh saying, ‘Will they understand what I’m doing?’ Those guys were like, ‘Fuck you, I got something to do. I have an idea. I don’t care what you think. Thick paint, you don’t like it? Then get the fuck out of here!’

—Melvin Sokolsky, Wraparound Magazine 1.4 (2004): 16.

Black Swan

A dancer’s life must be the most exalting thing in the world – and the most excruciating. But, to have performed one arc of the arm, one moment of beauty, one something … I’m not at all keen on going backstage. But the few times I’ve gone backstage to see Nureyev he’s always been wrapped in a dressing gown, sitting with his legs in boiling water and salts. ‘You will understand if I don’t stand up,’ he always says. ‘Naturally,’ I always say. The man is in mortal pain, you understand … this is what is behind the splendeur – l’autre côté de la medaille. This, I think, is our life – actually.

Diana Vreeland

Limits

Art’s about limits. It’s not about limitlessness.

—Richard Schickel

(Via Michael Leddy.)

Dear Andy Warhol … Love, Mick Jagger

jagger

(Via.)

That TIE Fighter’s Dusting Crops Where There Ain’t No Crops

northwesttat

(Via.)

Columbia and Cuba

columbiacuba

Kenyon Cox, COLUMBIA & CUBA - MAGAZINE COVER - NUDE STUDY (1898)

“Besides connoting the stronger/weaker sister relationship, the drawing plays on an older/younger sister or mother/daughter relationship. It suggests a scenario in which the older sister/mother (Columbia) has just finished disciplining the younger siter/daughter (Cuba) and is standing proudly while Cuba clings contritely to Columbia who wields a big stick, paddle, or bat. … images like this one need no support from male representatives of American power because such militantly masculinized images incorporate them already. However, Columbia’s muscular, mannish are leading down to the hand which grips the phallic stick may also be interpreted as leading back to these male representatives. The club is a clear reminder of the long arm of Uncle Sam and the ‘big-stick policy’ articulated by Theodore Roosevelt. Both the Columbia and Cuba of Cox’s study gaze out at the viewer. One might imagine that this veiwer coule be a ‘New Woman’ herself, a suffragette for whom such an image of female power, however imperialistic, might still have had emancipatory appeal. Nonetheless, the point to which the figure’s look is directed might just as easily be Uncle Sam’s controlling gaze. Columbia’s posture is remindful of that of a soldier standing at attention before this gaze which in the cartoon is not embodied by a corresponding cartoon character, but rather transparently conscripts the viewer.”
Reynolds J. Scott-Childress, Race and the Production of Modern American Nationalism, p. 107

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Bankruptcy of Purse or Bankruptcy of Life?

Winslow Homer, <em>Incoming Tide, Scarboro Maine</em>, 1883, watercolor on paper.

Winslow Homer, Incoming Tide, Scarboro Maine, 1883, watercolor on paper.

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea—“cruising,” it is called.

Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

“I’ve always wanted to sail to the South Seas, but I can’t afford it,” some men say. What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of “security.” And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine, and before we know it our lives are gone.

What does a man need—really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in, and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That’s all in the material sense, and we know it.

But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention from the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by, the dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.

Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?

—Sterling Hayden, Wanderer

Olly Moss’s Movie Poster Remakes

crusade

Lovely, just lovely. More here and here.

Late Bloomers

Paul Cézanne, Les joueurs de carte (1892-95)

Paul Cézanne, The Card Players

Prodigies are easy. They advertise their genius from the get-go. Late bloomers are hard. They require forbearance and blind faith.

Malcolm Gladwell