Hello Unemployment

Vera Clouzot, I love you.

No blog of mine would be complete without this passage - I truly am a predictable and obvious toad of a creature. I promise to provide content that isn't simply copypasta, as soon as I've recovered from post-exam anxiety and whatever fell pestilence has resulted in my current feverish delerium. Expect all of these recent posts to disappear as soon as I've sufficiently recovered my dignity and sense of decorum.

Marienbad

An old stencil, from when I was young and creative.

The Life of a Stupid Man

Bathtime Beat

I've been in the computer labs for the past 12 hours, and suddenly I'm beginning to loathe Ermogenous, the Greek Orthodox Community of South Australia, the Administration of Papua New Guinea, Leahy, Carbolic Smoke Balls and whole bunch of other undeserving people, objects and activities.



(I've found that in general I find it very easy to disappoint myself, but incredibly difficult to disappoint others. This isn't a noble or worthy trait.)

Surely I'm too old to be out until the wee hours making a disgrace of myself in public?

At least I wrote some epic glockenspiel jams when I finally arrived home.

Five buildings I'd like to visit before I die

#5 - The Czech Republic National Library

I feel a little like a fraud for posting this series - firstly because I have no background, education or experience in the fields of architecture, design, engineering or aesthetics; so any opinions given will be entirely from the perspective of a layperson. Secondly, almost all the buildings I link to will assuredly be libraries, archives or other buildings of cultural/literary importance - their actual design and physical space will almost certainly be of less interest to me than what they contain, who lived there, or the circumstances under which they were built.

I can't help but feel like an even greater imposter and buffoon then for beginning the series with a building which is not only a creature of spectacle and novelty, but also one which hasn't even been completed - the National Library of the Czech Republic.

Leaving aside my peculiar interest in certain Czech authors and general preoccupation with Eastern Europe, my reasons for choosing this particular building should be pretty self-evident: it's a huge creature made of goo, sent from space to destroy Prague with its intergalactic eye lasers. Producing a schlocky b-picture about that scenario would be one thing, but permanently etching it into the skyline of one of the most well-preserved and maintained cities of the world is quite another.

Some might decry the library as a novel eyesore, constructed with no mind towards the long-term character of the city. These are both valid and almost certainly true. Leaving aesthetics aside for the moment, however, there are two factors which I think speak persuasively in defense of the Library.

Firstly, the building is on the leading edge of environmental and sustainable technology innovations - it's naturally lit, heated and ventilated; and is constructed largely from materials with a small environmental footprint. More importantly, however, the building holds an undeniable appeal to young children - I know that were I visiting Prague as a child (does finding myself in my late-twenties disqualify me from childhood?) I'd simply need to spend every waking moment exploring the slime monster (the fact that it's full of books, and that I was (am?) a huge nerd would only further entice me).

How often do we hear demagogues, academics, parents and teachers bemoan that in the age of the Internet, cellphone, television and X-Box that children have no desire to read? Leaving aside for the moment whether this is a valid concern, I think the answer to this possibly nonexistent problem is right before us - interstellar slime monsters. Fill them with books, and you needn't worry again about your children becoming a generation of philistines (let them read this 'blog, however, and you may run the risk of them becoming pretentious assholes).

And in case I was about to fall into the trap of making this 'blog too highbrow:


"A secret sect of kung fu assassins could have silenced actor David Carradine as he delved into their shadowy activities, according to his family's lawyer..."

"Rotterdam-based photographer Ari Versluis and profiler Ellie Uyttenbroek have worked together since October 1994. Inspired by a shared interest in the striking dress codes of various social groups, they have systematically documented numerous identities over the last 14 years. Rotterdam's heterogeneous, multicultural street scene remains a major source of inspiration for Ari Versluis and Ellie Uyttenbroek, although since 1998 they have also worked in cities abroad.

They call their series Exactitudes: a contraction of exact and attitude. By registering their subjects in an identical framework, with similar poses and a strictly observed dress code, Versluis and Uyttenbroek provide an almost scientific, anthropological record of people's attempts to distinguish themselves from others by assuming a group identity. The apparent contradiction between individuality and uniformity is, however, taken to such extremes in their arresting objective-looking photographic viewpoint and stylistic analysis that the artistic aspect clearly dominates the purely documentary element."

Wim van Sinderen, Senior Curator Museum of Photography, The Hague

I saw a Japanese girl wearing a black t-shirt on my way to school today, emblazoned with the logo "this is not a date" above a red love-heart.

I think one of those should be standard issue for every girl I know.

Novel in 250 words: Vladimir Nabokov, Invitation to a Beheading

[Although an oft-repeated Ed Hopper quote might suggest that attempting to meaningfully summarise a novel is a futile and impossible task, I’ve had enough people ask me for reading recommendations lately that I figure I should use this ‘blog as an outlet for miniature reviews and such (rather than being simply a deluge of opaque and indulgent wallowing and passive-aggressive social commentary).]

I felt it appropriate to begin with Nabokov (but at the same time found the idea of commencing with the eponymous a little trite and obvious), which brings us to Invitation to a Beheading – one of his last novels to be penned in Russian, reputedly in a rapid burst of sustained creativity while taking reprieve from his work on The Gift.

Much like the later Bend Sinister, Invitation is an absurd tale, perhaps more reminiscent of Ionesco or Adamov than Kafka (although any comparison is destined to be slightly amiss and possibly misleading). A man, Cincinnatus C, faces imprisonment and execution for the crime of “Gnostic Turpitude” – for an inexpressible otherness at the core of his being. Held alone in a gargantuan fortress which dominates the surrounding countryside; Cincinnatus faces the surreal torments of occasional visits from his cuckolding wife (along with her aloof family, all of who are required to supply their own furniture), the jibes of his jailer Rodion, and the repulsive gregariousness of his would-be executioner (masquerading as a fellow prisoner and potential conspirator for escape) Monsieur Pierre – all while being kept oblivious to when his final day of punishment might arrive (the one solace afforded to prisoners yet unavailable to the free).

Although my all-too brief description might seem bleak, Invitation is possibly the best example of the most-appealing strains which run through Nabokov’s works – a mischievous wit and the suggestion that perhaps some final truth and inexpressible satisfaction might lay beyond that which is perceptible.