Picture Show

Train Smoke, 1900Reflecting recently on memorable biopics about artists, I remembered years ago having the opportunity to see the 1974 film Edvard Munch by Peter Watkins (right). It was shown at ACMI’s Cinematheque, and I recall being absolutely enthralled watching the film.

Munch (1863–1944), the Norwegian Expressionist painter is most famous for his painting The Scream, one of the pieces in a series titled The Frieze of Life. The film covers a thirty-year period in Munch’s life, from his harrowing childhood oppressed by death and disease, to his bohemian young adulthood during which he began an obsessive affair with a married woman. In his lifetime, Munch’s avant-garde work was reviled for his unusual style (of colour and texture) and themes of death, illness and eroticism alike.

Melancholy, 1896What is fascinating about the film is the director’s documentary approach: he employs hand-held cameras, a narrator, and mostly non-professional Norwegian actors who sometimes speak directly to camera, as though being interviewed. Additionally, he deliberately chose actors who intensely disliked Munch’s work to better express the hostility of Munch’s contemporaries.

Watkins’ technique creates the delightful impression that one is watching a film of the period – which of course is impossible since film was then in its infancy. Watching it was an extraordinary experience.

Watkins’ technique creates the delightful impression that one is watching a film of the period …

I have always enjoyed Munch’s work, but gained a new appreciation for his paintings and prints when the National Gallery of Victoria International held an exhibition on him a few years ago. I particularly loved the atmospheric rolling landscapes, with their voluptuous shapes, amorphous in the dusk. His pictures of lovers embracing were also fascinating, their shapes merging together, both a metaphor and an illusion brought on by the cover of darkness. Watkins’ film only brings one closer to understanding the man who created such compelling pictures.

The Kiss, 1897

See all of Munch’s paintings at WikiPaintings, and read more about the film at Rotten Tomatoes. 

Tile Style

Portugal is really famous for it’s tiles, azulejo in Portuguese. According to the guidebook, one cannot say one has really been to Lisbon if one has not been to the national tile museum. Happily, I can say I have.

You can buy single tiles as souvenirs, but I could not decide which I liked best, and by the time I did, I decided my bag was too heavy for such nonessentials (although it would have made a nice trivet). All I came away with was a couple of ceramic tile pendants, which I intended to restring with beads to give as presents.

I was surprised that besides these diamond-shaped tiles there was very little to choose from by way of ceramic jewellery. These originally came strung on leather cord. I unpicked the knots and restrung the pendant with Indian bone beads and turquoise ovals. And happily, my sister Star (to whom I gave it), can say she loves it. 

The Flying Saucer or The Rainbow

The Flying Saucer :: Chunky // Blanko Noir // No flash

I took this photograph of a rainbow out of my lounge room window. I love the dying light of the sunset and raindrops on the window. But it wasn’t until after I downloaded it that I saw the flying saucer. Wow! What a capture! Do you think Area 51 would be interested?

…Oh wait, it’s a reflection of one of my downlights. Phooey.

Riviera Weather

‘Riviera Number’ by Helen Dryden, British Vogue, Late January 1922Happy First of September to you! Appropriately for the first day of spring in Melbourne, it is beautifully sunny outside. It’s no Riviera view for me though, sadly.

This light and breezy watercolour Riviera Number is by Helen Dryden, an American artist and industrial designer active during the 1920s and 30s. She embarked on her career with fashion illustration, although it was not an auspicious beginning.

She moved to New York in 1909, and for about a year did the rounds of the fashion magazines, showing her portfolio of drawings. Dispiritingly, none were interested until Condé Nast took on Vogue. This new broom swept the illustrator in rather than out: the fashion editor was directed to contact Dryden immediately.

Considering the harsh criticism Dryden had received prior to this, Nast’s instant championship of her must have been such a vote of confidence. When one looks over Dryden’s oeuvre, it is hard to understand how so many magazines could have disliked her work, but that is the shock of the new.

She went on to become one of Nast’s favourite illustrators. During the 13-year collaboration between Dryden and Vogue, many delightful fashion illustrations and 35 covers were produced, although by 1917 the cover work had dried up. Fashions do change after all.

Scroll down and be enchanted with some more samples of Dryden’s work.

Keeping The Brickish End Up

How adorable are these bookends made from bricks? And how apt! Some of those bricks look hefty enough to hold up any length of books, so they are practical as well as picturesque. They also have the added advantage of making one look much more intellectual.

My only sorrow is that I have lost all record of their provenance, so I can’t tell you the name of their witty maker. Very clever styling too.