The Unofficial

Here's something I wrote a few months ago, but it seemed kinda relevant for today.

There are other observations here, the latest of which was written with today in mind.

And if you want even more opinion from a man whose opinions count for nothing, try looking here.

The Tariki

So did last month's posts bore you all rigid?! For March I might try something a bit different.

Starting here.

Those of you in Wellington can't help but have been aware that there is a Brian Brake show on at Te Papa.

It's an interesting show in that it reinforces that his work wasn't made for gallery walls. But more than that, it gives historical and contemporary perspectives on his work and doesn't try to suggest that his photography is anything more than it is.

There is also a book accompanying the exhibition, which while pricey, is worth getting hold of.

Anyway, this is one of my favourite shots in the show, taken by Brake in 1978.

As it is one of my favourite shots in the show I knew I was going to have to pay homage at some point.

That point was January 7, 2011.

It doesn't quite work when you can't see all the mountain. Also I didn't check my quick sketch regarding layout (probably because I couldn't see all the mountain). And obviously there have been a few minor cosmetic changes in the last 30 years.

The Thanks

Some of us have been saying this for years.

Though not as well as Paul Graham.

[T]here remains a sizeable part of the art world that simply does not get photography. They get artists who use photography to illustrate their ideas, installations, performances and concepts, who deploy the medium as one of a range of artistic strategies to complete their work. But photography for and of itself -photographs taken from the world as it is– are misunderstood as a collection of random observations and lucky moments, or muddled up with photojournalism, or tarred with a semi-derogatory ‘documentary’ tag.

Read the whole thing. It's something that has needed to be said for a long time.

Thanks Paul.

And for a change, here's me slagging some local photographers.

However, they are well-regarded by people who I would slot into the "part of the art world that simply does not get photography".

The Foolish

So ten years ago this November (or thereabouts) I bought some film of a guy. He was heading back to the UK and having a clean out.

Said rolls of film have been with me ever since, moving from freezer to freezer, until a couple of weekends ago I decided it was time.

So on a wander over to a friend's house I took some photos.

What I didn't think about was what camera I should use.

Considering that this is slide film and exposure is that much more critical to getting good results one should be somewhat selective about what camera to use.

One certainly should not use a camera with a fixed shutter speed.

Oh well, I still have one more roll in the freezer to waste time with.

And, oh, here's my latest dissing.

The Beautiful

It's a bit disconcerting when, for the sake of a free ticket (or two), you are expected to blag your way into pretending that you are some kind of journalist.

Such was the case with 13 Most Beautiful.

As it combined Andy Warhol films and a musician who can be found in my CD collection I really wanted to go to this show. And if it was possible I wanted to go for free (thanks Lumiere).

I wasn't expecting to have to do any work for it. I certainly wasn't expecting to have to do a 'phoner' (journo speak, apparently).

So there I was one Friday morning putting in a call to New York to try and ask some intelligent questions of a guy I had never met, but knew a bit about, about a show which he had been doing for a while and had probably answered these very same questions dozens of times. I'm not entirely convinced I pulled it off. But I did know was that I still wanted to see the show.

Last week, Dean and crew were in Wellington. Dean and Britta did a lunchtime talk at City Gallery. Dean was flogging his memoir. I bought it. He signed it. (Another audience member pulled out a Galaxie 500 7" and a couple of LPs for Dean to sign. It didn't occur to me until then that I could've brought down a CD or two.)

The next day they were performing at the Town Hall. I bought the DVD prior to the show having some inside knowledge that 1) they had only brought over about 30, 2) they would sell fast. After the show Dean and Britta signed it.

You can read my preview and review, and even see some photos (though they all appear to be from soundcheck).

Having procured copies of albums by Dean's first band in preparation for my interview, they have quickly become a favourite. Excitingly reissues are on the way. The DVD and book are both worth checking out, as is this website for a head full of wishes.

The Comedown

Ah Christmas eh?

This Christmas is going to be one many a music fan will remember.

It would be overstating things to say that I was a huge Vic Chesnutt fan - I didn't bother to see him when he played here a few months ago - but he's been on my radar for over ten years now and I'm always interested to hear what he's up to. (There is currently a free 6 track sampler on his website, including a track called 'Philip Guston'.)

It's always sad to hear of the death of people who have brought happiness to so many people while (and sometimes because of) suffering immensely themselves. I'm thinking of Elliott Smith and Kurt Cobain in particular.

I mentioned Smith here, when discussing the unexpected death of another 'friend'. Like McLennan, Smith made some of the most beautiful music of the past couple of decades - music that truly moved me. I even borrowed some of Smith's words for one of my shows.

Yesterday I got the Nirvana CD/DVD Live at Reading. It's not the most riveting watch, but considering this was recorded on August 30, 1992, before they had made their best album, their music still sounds incredibly vital today. I hardly listen to the studio albums anymore - familiarity has bred antipathy - but this has awakened thoughts of pulling them out and giving them a spin.

And now it appears that Vic Chesnutt, like too many before him, has decided he could go on no longer and left this world a little poorer.

And for something a little lighter, here are two recent reviews.

The Hotspot

And if you want to read something, here's more whoring by me.

The Rest

Just cos I know you'd all be bitterly disappointed if you missed out, here's the rest of that bloody film.








Oh, and in other news, here's a review. And look who won the Best Feature Website at the recent Qantas Media Awards 2009. We are just like so awesome.

The Backofbeyond

I know it's sad to revisit times past. But I do have a bunch of photos sitting in a folder waiting to be blogged.

And, as I understand it, I'm not actually allowed to publish/exhibit school work in any way without prior consent.

So you aren't ever going to know about the crap I'm making for school, but you're lucky enough to see where I went in January last year. Again.

It was here.

I've been there before. And I think I'd shot this before. But on this day it was near perfect.

And as a special surprise, I just noticed my latest review is up. And there are quite a number I believe I neglected to point you to when they were published so here's a list of books I have read.

There are a couple more on their way, Maybe if I feel like it I'll tell you about them sometime too.

The Budding

I took these a few weeks ago.

At the same time as I took these.

And these.

And there's a new, unrelated review up.

The Pretender

I did something wild and crazy the other weekend.

Something wilder and crazier than I’ve done in a good long while.

I set up a wee lab in the kitchen. And made myself some P. Then went to Newtown to sell it. But nobody bought it cos they thought I was a nark.

Oh hold on. That was my alterego in some cool alternate reality.

I set up a wee lab in the kitchen. And developed myself some film.

Two rolls of 35mm FP4+ which have been sitting on the kitchen table since June waiting for me, and a roll of 120 Tri-X which had been having a tour of the house for the previous 24 hours.

It was kinda wild, kinda crazy, kinda boring, kinda smelly. It has been quite some time since I’ve processed film, and while it doesn’t take much time to get back into the swing of it, it is kinda tedious. Especially when you don’t have a readymade film processing darkroom room where everything is set up and waiting for you.

The 120 stuff I shot on Saturday while pretending to finish my review of Peter Peryer’s latest. I got kinda bored (happens a lot with me) so decided to try and make my own Peryer’s.

I failed miserably. But it was a fun half hour.

Here’s a photo or two.


Here's someone else's thoughts about the Peryer.

As I was writing mine, it occurred to me that in my reviews I never really discuss the merit (or lack thereof) of the art. My logic is that people's tastes are different and a quick flick through the book will tell you whether the art interests you. I just hope I steer some people towards books/artists they may not have previously bothered with.

That, and I wouldn't want to offend anybody by writing something that could be taken to be offensive/patronising/pretentious/opinionated/etc because I would so hate to be accused of being offensive/patronising/pretentious/opinionated/etc.

The Reviewed

Tim recently posted this review.

He only posted part of it though.

Here's the rest.

Made In Taiwan

At the screening of Allan Wilson: Evolutionary I saw, Made In Taiwan was also shown. Made by the same production company, Auckland-based George Andrew Productions, this documentary was really a practical demonstration of Wilson’s work. Starring Nathan Rarere and Oscar Kightley, the pair trace their respective family lines (Maori and Samoan) back to a common ancestor, based on DNA analysis.

It screened on TV a couple of years back and I remember being both enchanted and bored. I blame the ads breaking up the flow. There’s no denying that Rarere and Kightley are good, natural, user friendly frontmen, and they revelled in tracing their story.

Their journey took them from some café in Auckland to Rarere’s family at Mahia, then to the Cook Islands to find the departure point of the seven waka, over to Samoa and Kightley’s family, to Vanuatu to compare physical features of various Polynesian and Melanesian races, and finally to Taiwan.

As one of the guys said, Taiwan was much like New Zealand, where the colonial culture had pushed aside the native Taiwanese. Rather than looking ‘Chinese’, native Taiwanese looked Maori. Ignoring what got them there – the DNA results – there was an undeniable physical similarity. Even the language, dance, and arts had similarities. As Kightley said at the end “the Pacific has shrunk for me now.”

Alone Made In Taiwan is a fascinating documentary, one about us as people, as a nation. Together with Allan Wilson: Evolutionary we have a great pairing of two stories every New Zealander should know, and one great man to thank for both of them.

There are also some Film Festival reviews of mine in the mix someplace around here.

Again he missed a couple. For editorial reasons. I got free tickets, I don't care.

But I know you all care greatly about my opinions. Especially my regualar reader who regularly complains that I write too much and don't put up enough pictures.

This post is for you. ;)

I Just Didn’t Do It

It often seems to be the case with Film Festivals that it’s the films I know least about, and maybe don’t even really care about seeing that I enjoy the most; those lacking the weight of expectation. Films like last years’ The Home Song Stories. Admittedly this year has been a quiet one for me film wise but I Just Didn’t Do It falls into this category. As good films should, this both entertains and enlightens.

It appears that opportunist sexual molestation is common on the Tokyo underground. And it also appears the Japanese justice system is anything but just. A young man is accused of touching up a school girl on the train. He declares he didn’t do it, but the officious prosecutors decide that the weight of evidence (i.e. the girl’s testimony) proves otherwise.

There are similarities to a Hollywood John Grisham movie – underdog fitting to protect and defend his innocence when the system is against him, case picked up by well-meaning, over-worked counsel, including the conflicted beautiful young female lawyer, and the wise idealistic partner. Much of the action takes place in the small, sterile courtroom where points are made with none of the flamboyant grandstanding we’d get from their American counterparts.

While it’s not exactly Kafkaesque – after all our underdog does know what he is accused of, and who his accuser is – we do follow the slow progress as the wheels of justice roll. There are similarities to Western judicial systems but there appear to be quite obvious differences too, including the presumption of innocence and the requirement for reasonable doubt. The hearing is spread over eleven sessions in about as many months, with the judge (and juror) changing half way through.

We sit there amazed at the injustice and the wilful involvement of so many who should know better. But then, that’s the role of this movie; to point out the major failings of the Japanese system. It’s not exactly corrupt but it is far from perfect. The final speeches from counsel, and the judgment, have a significance wider than this story. It seems to speak about (in)justice issues worldwide, but the closing shot of the fortress-like Japanese Supreme Court bluntly brings us back, reminding us it’s Japan we’re interested in today.

I Just Didn’t Do It is a slow film, without the (melo)dramatic spectacle we’ve come to expect in courtroom dramas, but the story is compelling and not without humour, and the cast are all superb, particularly the two ‘victims’. It is a classic Film Festival movie, a worthy foreign language film more people should see though this is likely to be your only chance.


The Cool School

The documentary is a difficult film to do well. The last few years has seen a resurgence in the popularity of documentary films but the quality varies greatly. The structure of the film seems to require many of the same elements as with fictional stories – conflict, narrative flow, interesting characters, interesting subject matter etc. Even with all these elements there is no guarantee of a great film.

The Cool School is one such doco. About the LA art scene that grew in the 1950s around Walter Hopps and the Ferus Gallery which he established. It was a story about which I knew nothing and the only artist I was aware of from that scene was Ed Ruscha. I figured it'd be a good education if nothing else.

Hopps spent a decade creating the scene based on the premise that for it to be successful there needed to be:
1) artists to make the work
2) galleries to support it
3) critics to celebrate it
4) museums to establish it
5) collectors to buy it

It's hard to fault his logic. And he set about realising his vision. Growing a pool of artists, giving them somewhere to show (Ferus) and getting people to come and see it. Being of the Beat-generation aesthetic the works tended towards assemblage and abstract expressionism – works that didn't garner huge critical praise at the time, though, not infrequently, they were derided.

Blending recent interviews with the major players and others from the periphery (including Dennis Hopper, Dean Stockwell, John Baldessari and Frank Gehry), and photographs and films from the period, the story is well told. We follow the slow fifteen year trajectory of the scene to its 'overnight' success, and uncover the dramas inherent in the initial struggle and sudden fame. To add to the conflict the film makers put together the first reunion of the (still living) artists in 35 years. Over dinner it appears the old wounds still smart. Ironically the downfall of the gallery came after they looked beyond LA and started showing East Coast artists, starting with Andy Warhol's first show, and later Roy Lichtenstein and Japser Johns.

While the story is interesting in itself and can arguably be read as an allegorical tale about modern art, ultimately, I found it lacking as a film. There was nothing massively wrong with it, I’m just not sure it has added anything to the history of its subject. There is a nice little conceit with colour largely being reserved for showing the art works, but overall there it seems to lack the passion the subject deserved. Where other films have compelled me to discover, or reignited my interest in, their subject, The Cool School left little I wanted to nibble on.

Of course now the Film Festival has left town, you're unlikely to ever get the chance to see these movies. Your life really won't be any the less for it, so I wouldn't fret about it too much.

The Collector

It’s no secret that I like books. In fact, I like books much more than I like reading them. Sure it’s kinda odd to spend so much money on things you never open. But at least my kids (or whoever is unlucky enough to look after my estate) might be able to make some money out of my little collection.

So it should come as no surprise that, last week, I made my usual pilgrimages to Browsers in Hamilton and to Parsons in Auckland. And I spent some money. And I discovered that Parsons have sold five of the six books of mine they had – with the sixth one on hold. But I wanna know who bought them ... and why.

Jodi was kind enough to take me to a second-hand bookshop in Tauranga too. I made her by Robin Morrison’s Sense of Place. Naturally I bought some books there too.

The most exciting find was the long sought after The New Color Photography for a lot less than I expected to pay for it.

No good home should be without the three volume 1966 An Encyclopaedia of New Zealand, and now, thanks to the Ministry for Culture and Heritage (three Indian typists and $20,000) no good home need be without it, and you can still find the book version around too.

When I got home I went shopping again, and ended up with this lot. I bought the Samuel Butler cos I really liked the cover. It’s one of those books I’ve long meant to read and now I have my own copy I may get around to it one day.

And then yesterday this turned up in the post box. Cool. Thanks Auckland University Press.

This is due out on September 10. With any luck I’ll have the review done by then.

Speaking of reviews, this one has turned up. And David pointed out the nice comments on this review from ages ago. I haven’t responded but have written this.

Thank you Linda and Matt for your comments.

I would like to point out that
1) I do not purport to be an art expert, merely someone very interested in art.
2) I have never suggested that a review is a 'serious critique'.
3) I have never been to art school.

Reviewing is about OPINIONS, and are written so that others may get an IDEA of what the publication/movie/album/show/etc. is like. The reader does not have to agree with the reviewer. The reader can actually form their own OPINION.

It is called “reviewing” because it involves someone offering their own view after having read/seen/heard what they are reviewing. It should not be confused with previewing which involves someone offering their own view generally prior to actually having read/seen/heard what they are previewing.

If reviewing was supposed to be serious critiquing it would be called a critique. I do find it ironic that you dismiss my review by stating that “[o]ne cannot seriously critique a work on their own personal likes and dislikes”, when the lack of objective critiquing of Buchanan’s work was my main problem with the book. And, I suspect, you are doing the exactly the same – basing your view of the book and this review on your own taste, not an objective critique.

I also find it interesting that you are happy to attack me, but make no attempt to argue against the statements/points in my review where I express the failings of this publication. I stated up front that I did not like his art but that didn't stop me attempting to write a balanced piece about the book, as I believe I have done with all of the reviews I have written.

You ask “what has the creator of the work set out to do?, and, How well have they achieved that aim?” Well, I thought I made it quite clear that I found the book clumsy and confused and I couldn't work out exactly what they had set out to do. Therefore they failed.

Can I ask this? What is the point of a book about an artist which doesn't examine the artist's work, that doesn’t explain why they produce the work they do, or talk about more than the surface imagery? Why, when so much of the text is biographical detail, does it miss out a large chunk of Buchanan's life and career as an artist? If this is an attempt at an artist survey why are the works not properly captioned to allow the reader some sense of the artist’s evolution?

I stand by everything in my review, maybe if you re-read it you'll see that I explained my disappointments and was actually hoping to be swayed in my view of Buchanan arts. The fact that I wasn't, I feel, reflects more on the book than it does on me.

It seems churlish to say this, but not everyone has to like the same things, people can legitimately hold differing views. The fact that you disagree with me is your prerogative, but why attack me? Why not attack my message? Clearly you hold a different view to me, yet you make no attempt at argument, resorting to mere invective which really isn’t worthy of this response.

Not sure if I’ll post it there or not. Not sure they’re worth it. But it feels good to write a nicely reasoned ‘up yours’.

So not only am I a collector of books and rejection letters, I am also a collector of online abuse. I am just like so 21st Century, dude.

The Fuel

Once again we visit the magical year of 2000.

Once again we visit an "Editorial" assignment. This time an actual editorial shoot.

I shot Fuel. Espresso.

I got top marks for the assignment.

I spoke to a journalism student.

She approached Cuisine about doing a story.

They said "we've done a story on coffee in each of the previous three issues, so thanks but no thanks."

So these nice photos have the pleasure of being my first rejected photos.

Awesome.

And my latest review of a nice little artists book is online too.

The Issue

On Monday my computer died - much like this bird.

On Tuesday night we managed to revive it.

Yesterday I finally managed to go online again. But only via dial-up. I can feel my life slipping by as a wait for emails to arrive and web pages to load.

So I probably won't be here again until that's sorted out.

In the meantime here's another post about my latest project, and one in which I diss a book bigtime (ooh I'm such a bitchy critic).

By the way, I came across that bird sometime in the summer on one of those rear occasions when I was wandering around town with my digi, though I can no longer remember why I was doing so, but I'm sure it had some real purpose to it.