White flight to Disturbia, or a Hell within a 'Heaven' ?

This shot by Steven Klein of Linda Evangelista for W magazines September 2012 issue, captured a very dark vision of beauty that seemed to define an angst in America.

I called this post 'White Flight to Disturbia' as the styling of this shoot is set in the early 1970's suburbia. The interior is iconic. The football trophies of sons who remain out of sight. The sculpture of the saint with the baby Jesus on the old fashioned television set affirm the Christian values at the heart of this family. The house wife,  the home keeper, should be in heaven. Is this not what all women want?. The old off white phone. The net curtains, the putrid colors that denote the safety , the homoegenous ideal of suburbia.

This period heralded the white flight from the urban landscape to the suburbs where visions of everyone looking the same, having the same values, doing and thinking the same things was considered to be the new idea of heaven. 1972 brought with it Nixon's landslide victory.The following year Roe vs Wade was fought . Society was changing and the suburbs were havens from that unrest, racial diversification, violence drugs, gays and communists.

This brings me back to this image. The 'House wife'  as suburban superhero, which is ironic in that her power in this conext of her actual life is a fantasy. But , imagining you are a super hero is an escape into a fantasy from an otherwise boringly normal life. However, if suburbia was so ideal, something to escape to, why would one need to escape it?.

Her body is a plastic sex blow up doll, that says a lot about how society views the ideal woman, and the pressures to fit that collective cultural ideal. Eternally young and not unique- Plastic. The icons of Faith and family seem to not satisfy this woman. She is alone with visions of escape and fetishised power, whose deviance emerges under rigid social constraints. The fabrics of the garments are less about Parisian couture and more about  kinky dominatrix clothes: Latex, neoprene and the like.

What does she need to protect herself from in suburbia with her ray gun ?. The neighbors who live in homes exactly like hers, next door ?. After escaping all those suspicious types in the urban jungle surely the fear and paranoia in 'heaven' would end, apparently not. This we know to be true with fear mongering amongst the Far Right in American politics and media. They peddle fear to sell guns. The blow up doll body and the superhero fetish an impossible standard to maintain, that can lead to a sense of failure for not living up to that which was never real.

This angst pervaded the fashion photography last year. This is only one example, but the feeling of frustrated personal freedom that deviates in secret from the rigidity of conforming to social norms to succeed on the narrow terms of American society is not yielding much evidence of personnel fulfillment, nor a rewarding pursuit of happiness and the American Dream..

There is no answer to the the thoughts and questions this trend in fashion photography evokes. Am not looking for one. Rather pondering the proliferation of such imagery. This last shot is intriguing to me. The portrait of Jesus, the picture of a baby framed.The saint with baby Jesus sculpture.The Sons football trophies and the fire place, the warmth and heart of this suburban white middle class family. And what is Mother doing? escaping into fantasy where cat woman, her inner super hero, seeks freedom from disturbia. She seems to dream of taking flight from her own hell on earth.

Be careful what you wish for....

Peace.

Brief Encounters: The Blue Angel and a man from Oz

My mother worked with The Terrence Higgins Trust, an HIV hospice in London, when she retired from teaching art. She would tell me tales of her experiences over tea. It had proven to be an enlightening process discovering upon her retirement the whole gamut of sexual escapades men can get up to in the wee hours of night.

However, one such tale inspired me. It inspired my mother to. I remembered it to a friend the other day,who is HIV positive and was depressed.

It was a mild autumn afternoon in London many years ago, long before I moved to the United States. We sat in the bay window of my parents Edwardian terrace apartment. My mother poured the tea and lit a cigarette.

"I met an amazing Australian man the other day. He came to give a talk at the Trust. I spoke with him after wards he told me of his life. He was, he said, everything gay men loved. He was tall, muscular blond, and rugged. He was the 'golden boy', everyone wanted him and everyone had him. Life was good he had said", she told me as she drank her tea.

I imagined him to be like the image I posted. This is not the guy am discussing, it is my impression.

"He told me he discovered he was HIV positive. He grew sick very quickly and the doctors saw no hope. He said he became very thin and he was ailing. He decided to return to Australia to die. He wanted to spend time with his family and say farewell in peace. It seemed sad, such a beautiful man, since he was so young at this moment in his life. He was very handsome, men and women would desire him I dare say", she said drawing on her cigarette and pausing to look out of the bay windows.

"So, he went home and reunited with his family. Then entered a hospice skeletal thin, waiting for death to take him from life. His beauty gone, and so too the men who adored him. Laying there one night a kind nurse in a neat blue uniform came into his room and chatted with him. He said the nurse put her hand on his shoulder and that brought him immense peace. She looked at him silently with the eye's of a mother to her child and said " Everything will be alright with you. You will be fine. Peace my son". And then, he said she left," my mother said. She paused and was thoughtful. She took a puff of her cigarette.

"He said he slept so peacefully that night and continued to do so. And each subsequent morning his health kept improving, until one day he he left the hospice and his beauty returned. He glowed. He glowed still, he even glowed on the day he came to the Trust," mother said.

"What did he say he thought happened ?", I asked.

"Well, that  following morning he woke up and asked the day nurses who the lovely night nurse in the blue uniform was. He did not know her name. She never gave him one. He asked after her as he wanted to thank her. The nurses were perplexed and said there was no nurse like that in duty. But, more importantly, all uniforms were white. That the last time they were blue was 50 yars ago," mother said, sipping tea.

"No one knew who this nurse was. He said he felt she was his angel, that in her touch he was healed. That as he left the hospice he would devote his life, now restored, to spreading a message of hope, even when at deaths door. And so he traveled to London to share his story," mother said drawing a deep puff of her cigarette and sipped her tea.

We both looked out of the bay window onto the street below. The faded autumn leaves hung limp on the trees lining it.

 I thought him the other day and spoke of him to my friend. As the tears filled his eyes and he said,
" I needed to hear that". I did not inquire further and gave him a hug saying, "well, am glad I shared it with you then".

So, I thought I would pass along this Australian mans story as I do not know who it will inspire or why. It is not my story, am just the narrator, and not important in this equation, but the message is.

Cheers to hope !..and to nurses in blue uniforms.

Peace,

Brief Encounters: a fat girl and a big plastic rose on the bus

Every morning I take a bus to school and every morning a familiar bunch of strangers appear each day. One morning,as I was standing on a full bus, I noticed an ugly big pink plastic rose, with awful green plastic leaves, perched on top of a very fat unattractive woman's head. Her greasy mousy brown hair, with flecks of gray, was tied in a ram shackle bun, upon which sat this big bright rose. Her face was bloated, the skin sallow, the eyes sunken, under which puffy bags hung. She wore a gray cheap flannel hoodie and sweat pants, faded, stained and worn. Her corpulent flesh sat in roles. And, that fabric she wore was not flattering her figure at all.

She sat alone, looking down, of indeterminate age, and never looked at anyone. My first thought was how awful she looked. I was very critical and thought she probably smelled. I had no proof of it, it felt like she would. I felt a mild distaste for her and a strange sympathy. I got off the bus and paid no heed to my thoughts about this stranger and her big pink plastic flower perched on her head. I forgot her.

I had not seen this woman in ages. But, the other day as I was walking along the street I suddenly thought about this woman and her flower. Why was she on my mind ?, I pondered. Why am I thinking about this poor, fat, ugly woman with no taste in clothes, and who is always alone on a bus stuck on my mind ?. And, my mind focused on that flower in particular.

It is true that her big pink flower made me notice her. She wore it everyday, no matter what. And then it struck me that her rose made her special. It made her beautiful. It is all she had to feel pretty. At least that is what it seemed to symbolize seeing her each morning on the bus. Also, given her attire it is all I think she could afford.

I could not shake this total stranger from my mind. On relfection that cheap plastic pink rose made her feel beautiful no doubt. I know am projecting my own narrative, but it serves a greater purpose. I saw beauty in her. Her flower made me see her very human desire to feel beautiful. No man was buying her gifts from Cartier. She had the aura of one who has been burned by life, not celebrated by it.

Yet, it is a very human need to feel beautiful and in turn to feel worthy of love. She may well be poor, fat, unkempt and maybe unloved. But, that big pink plastic flower sat on her greasy hair and shone bright. It said, to me, " here I am, I am not invisible. I may be cheap and plastic, but am beautiful.See me ."

It was her only claim to beauty. It was not my right to remove that. In fact,  she made me a better person that day and the subsequent days I saw her in retrospect. Why ?, because beauty resides in many things.  They are not always obvious to the naked eye. There are layers to beauty. When next I see her I will no longer see an ugly fat woman with no taste, but rather a fellow human being, no better or worse then I, who wants to feel beautiful, to be seen and to feel loved, just as I do and as you do. She and her big plastic rose touched my heart, opened my eyes and she will never know that - a familiar stranger.

Peace

Sunday Style section of The Chronicle- My article on Rodney Smith

Rodney Smith's photography draws the viewer into an extraordinary world: a bygone era that is darkly romantic, whimsical yet ironic, surreal yet classically beautiful.
"Rodney Smith is a realist who puts dreams onto paper," says Jiun Ho. The designer, whose gallery and design studio are called Jiun Ho De Jia (the House of Jiun Ho), chose to exhibit Smith's photographs because it's part of the space's mission of "creative expressions from around the world."
"His photographs look as if they were born out of an earlier era, as they are created with techniques from the past," Ho said.
Smith, who earned a master's of divinity degree from Yale in 1973, explores philosophical and theological themes in his work regarding our place in life. Yet he also proclaims himself to be a "closet optimist." There is a subtle irony and beauty to the work that conveys a yearning, a hope for something better for life.
Q: What is the importance of classicism, in regard to structure and balance in your creative process?
A: It represents something the world needs to be in buoyancy, or state of harmony. That the sense of proportion, scale - all those elements are about a certain resonance, when life is in proportion to the environment and the world around us. I think things become discordant, mean-spirited, vulgar when they lose this sense of proportion and graciousness that classicism aspires to. I perceive classicism to be much more about a state of man.
Q: How important is the concept of time and romance in your work?

A: The popular culture and the art that is reflected in that is much more a social statement about the world currently than it is about life, death and what we stand for as humans. I am interested in a sense of grace, real elegance, style, not in fashion modes, not of the moment, but to call forth attributes in men and woman that are long-standing and that will never go out of fashion.
Q: Would it be true to say that your aesthetic vision possesses an irony, an element of the surreal and a darkness of mood?
A: That is very astute. If you look at my work, what underlies a lot of it is my sense of melancholia. We are very small creatures in a large world. We have a lot of questions and no answers. I am left with this figure who is isolated and alone in the world. If you have that disposition about where you stand in the world and who we are as humans, I think the resolution is that you have a slightly melancholic perception of life. A wiser, more astute observation of human nature than one which is joyful and shallow. I would love the answers, but am like this figure standing on a precipice looking at the other side unable to make a leap of faith.
Q: Do the images of clocks express the transience of life?
A: Time has always been an interest. I like clocks visually and intellectually. Where we are in time makes me reflect about our being.
Q: About fashion - how does this aesthetic apply to that aspect of your work?

A: I am a 65-year-old man, and the last vestige of a time when women were perceived differently than today. Women had enormous power of allure, a mystery, grace. They were the better sex. They were adored. Men were vulgar in comparison, and crass. Women were on a pedestal. They brought out the best in men. Grace Kelly, Jackie Onassis, Audrey Hepburn, that era of women held their power, not intrinsically, but they had it, unlike men.

Jiun Ho de Jia presents Rodney Smith: Through Jan. 25. Jiun Ho Gallery, 1180 Folsom St., S.F. http://jiunhodejia.com.

Julius Lumsden is a San Francisco freelance writer. E-mail: style@sfchronicle.com

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/style/article/Rodney-Smith-s-photographs-evoke-past-4187150.php#ixzz2Ht8DGCgK

The Arthritis Foundation.Story published in The Chronicle, Sunday Style section.

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   The Veranda Ballroom of the Four Seasons Hotel was bathed in a pink glow recently for the Bay Area Arthritis Auxiliary and Arthritis Foundation, Northern California chapter, charity luncheon.
Nearly 400 people attended the event, including fashion chair Marilyn Cabak, who said she became involved with the organization "because I wanted to raise awareness of what children go through with this disease - the pain they encounter just trying to walk. I had to do something to help."
 Katie Harrison-Wallach, 13, shared her journey through the pain and setbacks arthritis had imposed on her life.
"I got arthritis the second time four years ago," she said. "I could not walk, run or jump. I realized that I was not the only one with this. I realized there were no limitations on what I can do.I came to understand that everybody in the world is able to do anything."
 Later, Julia Panciroli's couture collection was shown on the runway, featuring her 1950s-inspired silhouettes and signature flower motif.
The looks, in a rich palette of purple, fuchsia, black and pewter duchess satin, French lace, silk faille and brocades, drew a standing ovation from the crowd.

The event, including a silent auction, raised $170,000 to send children to Camp Milagros, the Camp of Miracles, and provides essential support for their families. Panciroli donated a portion of proceeds from orders.

by Julius Lumsden

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/style/article/Bay-Area-Arthritis-Auxiliary-Luncheon-4001833.php#ixzz2BPSYnkZO

My story for The Chronicle, San Francisco.

http://www.sfgate.com/style/article/Jiun-Ho-showcases-international-aesthetic-3882072.php

 

Tucked away in the heart of SoMa is a doorway that leads one on a voyage across centuries and through many cultures. A steel sign above the main entrance, illuminated at night, reads "Jiun Ho de Jia," meaning "welcome to the house of Jiun Ho."
Intrinsic to Jiun Ho's vision is the idea of traveling in the mind, which is reflected in the works on display and the careful placement of each object and work of art in the San Francisco product and interior designer's showroom.
"This is a space that reflects my life, my background and my culture," says Ho.
If you do not have time to travel, then you can travel within these walls. The showroom opened in January 2011, but the 39-year-old has been working in San Francisco since 1999.
The San Francisco audience is sophisticated, traveled and international, which is what drew Ho to the city. His clientele includes celebrities and corporate executives, and his work has been featured in Elle Decor, Architectural Digest and California Home & Design, among others. He has participated in the Metropolitan Home Showhouse in San Francisco.

Ho, who is of Chinese descent, was born in Malaysia. There is a strong colonial sensibility to his design aesthetic, notably French, yet it's also infused with Asian and British elements. The 1930s emerges through this eclectic mix of themes, with a touch of the surreal that lends a whimsical humor to his otherwise serious work.

To synthesize art with life, he has a fully equipped kitchen in the gallery and often invites local chefs to create gastronomic events and wine tastings alongside the art and furniture on show. Art is to be lived, not looked at.

The rawness of the space reflects its history. The walls are rough with layers of paint remaining from past incarnations. This visual narrative is key to his work. Modern architectural details were built in the space, but the shell remains untouched. History and a sense of place are important to understand his work. There is a continuous juxtaposition of the past and present, the masculine and the feminine, and the traditional and modern.
"It is a fusion of my Malaysian background and the time spent in the United States," Ho says. "It is a fusion of the two environments enhanced by my world travels. Through my work both with interiors and products, I am trying to connect with people on an emotional level."

Ho does not want to be seen as an Asian designer. He wanted to break that assumption when creating the French-inspired furniture collection. This collection is an attempt to synthesize Eastern and Western design ideals.

If you consider parallel perspective in Asian art and the placement of objects in the two dimensions of the paper in which they float, you will be aware that none take precedence. Every object is in balance with the others and of equal importance philosophically. There is no hierarchy, as there is no foreground and obvious subject, as in Western two-point perspective.
Once this is understood, one can appreciate the Eastern influence in Ho's work and philosophy of life that he hopes to share in the gallery, interiors he designs for clients and the furniture he makes.
"Both are rooted in modern principles and distilled through my own life experiences. I do not follow fashion trends; rather, I create my own and let it speak for itself."

Julius Lumsden is a San Francisco freelance writer. E-mail: style@sfchronicle.com

Read more: http://www.sfgate.com/style/article/Jiun-Ho-showcases-international-aesthetic-3882072.php#ixzz29idKCs5K

Regret?.....'je ne regrette rien'

I was taken by surprise in class when a student asked if I regretted anything. It was the end of the semester, the end of the last class and it was a Q&A moment before sending them on their way into their future.

"Do you regret anything?", the student asked.

"No, I do not regret anything. To regret would require that I miss yesterday. It would imply that yesterday was better then today. Yesterday is dead. All I have is today. And, right now is good. So, why live in the past ?. It is dead.", I replied.

This exchange got me thinking more about regret. I do not regret anything. I see no reason to go back over any so called mistakes because on reflection I don't see any. These experiences made me who I am today. It is a waste of that experience to regret it. That cripples you in the present. In those moments I did what I did, said what I said  and acted as I sincerely felt in that moment. I do not regret being true to my self.

Do I wish I could change my past?. No. I chose each step and own each one of them. I am no man's victim. I learned to accept everything about myslef from the beginning to this moment in which I type these words. I think that is what I have been doing in San Francisco over the past year, collating all the narratives of my life, embracing them, understanding them and letting then go. This city is the only city I have lived in where one can be meditative in an urban setting.

Some relationships end and I don't regret those either. It is important to let go in life, you don't own anyone to begin with. I was chatting on Facebook with someone who mentioned that people left him behind, which left him with a 'woe is me' narrative. That narrative only reinforces itself and brings no peace. How can anyone leave anyone behind anyway ?. We are not in a race, as we are alone on our respective life paths. We leave each other behind in equal measure at the exact moment our connection expires.

Edith Piaf famously sang this song  'Je ne regrette rien'. I regret nothing. I found the English translation. It is worth noting that last two lines are full of joy of being in the present with the bloom of unfettered love unhindered by the past:

No, absolutely nothing

No, I regret nothing
Not the good that has been given
Not the bad, it's all the same to me

No, absolutely nothing
No, I regret nothing
It is payed, done, forgotten
I don't care about the past

With my memories
I light the fire
My pains, my pleasures
I don't need them anymore
I'm done with the loves
and all their troubles
I'm done for ever
I start over with nothing

No, absolutely nothing
No, I regret nothing
Not the good that has been given
Not the bad, it's all the same to me
No, absolutely nothing
No, I regret nothing
Because my life, because my joys
today, they start with you

In truth we are in a perpetual state of leaving even our selves behind , since we our selves change. Are you the same person you were ten years ago?. Everything changes and I don't regret that either. It is life. Life is beautiful and the today as you read this the "sun is still in the sky and shining above you. Let me hear you sing once more like a you did before. Sing a new song Chiquitita.Try once more like you did before. Sing a new song...." ('Chiquitita' -song chorus lyric by Abba).


peace


Painting by Edward Hopper