TAYLOR MADE

What makes someone an artist? Totally a cheesy question, right? But honestly, if you’re willing to forget the bullshit and just think about that, what is it that makes someone an artist? When have you “made it” as a painter? It’s not an easy question to answer.

I’ve wondered for many years just what defines an artist. We have degrees and exams to designate doctors or lawyers, but even those armed with an MFA do not think it necessarily gives them the right to claim the title of artist. There seems to be some immeasurable or mysterious test.

We the viewer/consumer (and therefore the judge and jury) require more of them. We need them to capture us. We expect artists to try to do or make something exceptional, to produce out-of-the-ordinary reactions in themselves, and in us. There are few people who can create such a reaction. However, when a painter puts in the time and effort and is able to create art that moves people, it’s worth taking notice.

Johnny Taylor is a self-taught abstract impressionist painter. He refuses to work from sketches, photos or reference points. His paintings, which evoke elements of architecture, have an instantly recognizable language and pattern that play with the past, the present, and the future. His compositions incorporate distillations of visual phenomena – the city, structures, patterns of trees and nature. “I do not seek to represent specific subjects.” He says “I am responding to the energies, forces and indefinite aspects of an active matrix.”

Johnny first introduced himself to Vancouver’s art scene when he put together a solo show in a nondescript film studio and featured six large works that had cumulatively taken him five years to create. The audience was treated to prodigious raw canvases covered in oil paint that had been worked into watercolor like delicateness. The grandiose scale and confidence were enough to take your breath away. The buzz about Johnny began.

In a city with the best of intentions but famous for inaction, Johnny soon found himself in a conundrum: one successful show under his belt and a gallery promising him a big future. Contract negotiations began and expectations were built up and unfulfilled. Johnny realized that at the end of the day he was the one who could best present himself as the artist he wanted people to see.

Within three years Johnny moved forward with a blockbuster solo exhibition that showcased twelve large works – 12 by 14 foot compositions. He defied expectations and created work using wood, plaster and glass. This show was a challenge to the viewer as much as Johnny was challenged to create it. Pieces demanded that you reach out and touch them to even begin to figure out how, and of what, they had been created. The work was transfixing.

But space to create and show art in an expensive city was becoming more difficult to find. Cuts to government investment in arts and culture had a devastating ripple effect throughout the community. Lucky for Johnny, while out on a walk with his dad one day, a serendipitous encounter with Mark Brand, one of Vancouver’s most accomplished young entrepreneurs, turned into the opportunity of a lifetime.

Brand had just reopened one of Vancouver’s most beloved buildings in the heart of Downtown: Save-On Meats, a four story building with 100 year old hardwood hallways, brick walls, two empty meat lockers, heritage style windows and the infamous Pinky the Pig sign. The top floor was vacant and prime space for an artist to use. Brand offered it to Johnny and without hesitation Johnny put his good fortune to use. Within a year he’d opened with his best show to date.

Hundreds of people hiked the four flights of stairs for the chance to view Johnny’s most recent work. Quite possibly the jumpstart to his international career, this show opened the door to a plethora of opportunities worldwide including a upcoming show at the beautiful 6500 square foot Melissa Morgan Fine Art Gallery in California.

True artists are inventors. They create something new rather than simply copying what’s there. Their art prompts new ways of thinking. They push the boundaries beyond what was thought to be possible. It’s not the materials, or the gear. It’s what they create with them and within us. If you seek out Johnny’s work, it will create a reaction in you. You will see something evocative and yet unique. In his work, surface is as important as the paint.

Finger swipes of thick paint, smudges of oil sticks, washes, scratches and dents; filled in with wax, layered up, scraped away, and built up again. The process is complex, yet compositionally, the pieces are focused and restrained. Parts are left untouched and empty, drawing the viewer in with sharp perspective lines towards deeper hushed activity. What materializes appears like a floating city suspended in the atmosphere. “Like cities having a dream”, he says.

So what’s makes someone a true artist? Ask Johnny.

Words: Rachel Zottenberg Photographer: Matthew Atkinstall & Eric Cairns

WHEN THE LEVY BREAKS

You know that whole, “Dude, what if the red I’m seeing isn’t the same red you’re seeing?” conversation you have? It’s actually a completely valid, sober thought too. If you think about it, everything you see is just what your brain decides is important out of a few flickers of light, and since everybody’s a unique and beautiful snowflake, it’s pretty likely that we’re all living in our own personal realities (some more than others).

Now take that thought and look at your digital camera. What colour of red does it see? Is it a truer, more honest-to-goodness red? Does it see the world more accurately through the lens? Our lives are basically a mixed bag of biases and distractions anyway, so given that the camera definitely doesn’t think about the puppy you’re photographing for your Facebook album, it’s reasonable to assume that it just sees it for what it is (adorable), and goes on about its business. So then, what’s going on around us that we overlook in our day-to-day experience?

To photographer/videographer Malcolm Levy, the world is a place full of unknowns hidden in plain sight, and experiences often taken for granted, but full of meaning. Working exclusively with digital equipment, Levy frames images from fractures of moments so brief, that in order to get them he first has to give his camera the digital equivalent of an existential crisis.

By either filming landscapes in motion, or filming a location while moving the camera around constantly, Levy’s work comes to life in the way he pushes his equipment past its ability to make sense of what it’s actually seeing. To do this, he breaks his footage down to its most basic time scale, creating what he calls “Other Frames” that are captured in the moments between when the camera seems to – for lack of a better word – blink.

“I continually slow [video] down way beyond any kind of normal frame rate. It’s so beyond even just normally slow. About six minutes [of video] is maybe about one second of movement. I’m able to sort of deconstruct digital technology so it has to sort of think for itself.” And at frame rates as slow as 0.05 fps, the camera itself starts to become his medium.

“What [the digital camera] is actually doing is sending a signal constantly that’s creating the information, but it’s built to create only so much information. Digital technology isn’t made to be slowed down past a certain extent; it’s trying to mimic film. What it does then, is create ‘Other Frames’ that are not a part of any normal reality,” he explains.

The ideas around “Other Frames” have been presented by Levy in part over the past few years in Hungary, Germany, China, Toronto and Vancouver. Speaking recently at the 17th International Symposium on Electronic Art in Istanbul, he discussed the importance of abstract photography, while having the opportunity to gather new inspiration from the environments around him.

The work is presented on large-format stills that feel like you could dive into them, or in videos that are like mental massages: entrancing, meditative and spiritual. Levy brings the viewer into the mood of the places he films, capturing the soul of moments that would normally get lost in brain’s translation of light beams into thoughts. In this sense, Malcolm Levy’s camera is like an extension of our human situation, with the lens as the eyeball and the sensor chip as the brain.

It’s easy to become lost in the moment when looking at his work. It feels like you’re seeing the soul of the place he’s filmed. Sitting inside his studio, in front of a huge monitor playing a series of entrancing videos from his most recent trip, Levy tells me about the importance of mood. “Often what I find really interesting about the work, is looking at the different notions of how the feeling is in a certain time and space. So that even though [the work] is abstract, it’s really speaking to the overall emotion of that time, or sort of how one might feel in that space.”

More a wandering Yogi than a studio shut-in, Levy has found his locations all over the world, filming places that are loaded with emotion and character: a graffiti wall in Sao Paulo, a palace in Istanbul, a model of the future city of Shanghai or a train ride through rural India. He captures their vibe while completely abstracting the image from the subject. “There’s a real surrealism to taking the train in India,” he tells me, “you travel day and night – often overnight, and it doesn’t go that fast. So you just sort of carry on.”

It seems too, that the bigger and more modernized the world is becoming, the harder it is to see through the hodgepodge of culture that we’re creating everywhere. In this sense, Levy’s ideas have plenty of potential to peer through the cultural veil of a place better than most, by abstracting it to the point where it becomes all just a sensation. And depending on the location, his work can be just as warm and inviting, as brooding and foreboding.

“What I’m working on now is looking how images of architecture can relate around the world…intertwining and juxtaposing images from the model of the future city of Shanghai, with images from the slums of Bombay, creating hybrid landscapes.” He explains that it all comes down to, “What do we really know about a place, how do we really see it?”

There’s a certain gentle flow to it all that’s transfixing, more like the moods of textural synth music than your run of the mill photography. And just like how synthesizers make sound out of electrical signals, Malcolm Levy makes music with his cameras using the ghost in the machine. It seems like this suits him well, as he tells me, “I see visuals as being very musical.”

Malcolm Levy will culminate his work on “Other Frames” in New York in Spring 2012.

Words: Jordan Ardanaz

For years, when teenage boys needed to see racy television scenes, they did so by recording to VHS tape on a magical night when Cinemax came in clear. Then along came HBO, which quickly became the destination for boundary-pushing scenes on television. However, recently there have been a number of British, basic cable and, yes, even network shows that have given HBO a run for their money. Move over, gratuitous Entourage nudity; here are the seven raciest scenes on television, HBO excluded (grades in parentheses):

Mary-Louise Parker and Mark Paul Gosselaar, Weeds
So there we were: it was 2010, and Zach from Saved by the Bell was having the career resurgence we all knew he had in him. Well, that’s not true, he did a lot of guest starring roles in the aughts, did NYPD Blue and now stars on a show on USA Network. Resurgence is a strong word. Anyway, he totally does Mary Louise Parker from behind in this one scene. (A-)

Joel McHale and Gillian Jacobs, Community
I’m not sure how many people knew that Joel McHale was in incredible shape. I certainly assumed that his tailored suits were responsible for his impeccable appearance on The Soup, but it turns out he used to play football in college at Washington State. He and Gillian Jacobs hook up on a table in the study room during the first paintball-themed episode. They’re both incredibly attractive and wear pretty sexy underwear. (B)

Sarah Michelle Gellar and James Marsters, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
In season six, after Buffy gets resurrected the second time (spoiler alert), there’s an episode where Willow and Tara break-up a few episodes before Tara gets killed (spoiler alert), and Willow turns closer toward the dark side and Spike and Buffy eff until a building collapses. (C+)

Lee Pace and Anna Friel, Pushing Daisies
A criminally underwatched show, Pushing Daisies, had one of the most crushworthy women on television. The basic show premise is kind of silly; Lee Pace’s Ned can bring dead things back to life by touching them once and if he touches them again, they return to being dead. His childhood crush/star-crossed lover/soulmate Charlotte “Chuck” Charles gets killed episode one, so after bringing Chuck back, he can no longer touch her.  For the most part, this premise lends itself well to twee and romantic storylines, until one kinky fantasy and lots of talk about m-bating kind of derails the cuteness. (B-)

Taylor Kitsch and Minka Kelly, Friday Night Lights
The fictional town of Dillon, Texas had maybe the most lopsided ratio of hyper-attractive people to normals in the history of television. It was basically inevitable until most characters dated each other in a very Gossip Girl rotating-pair-up sort of way. To kick things off, in season one, Kitsch’s Tim Riggins hooks up with Kelly’s Lyla Garrity one morning before class.  Added naughtiness factor: Lyla was totally his best friend’s girl. (B+)

Antonia Thomas and Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, Misfits
In the E4 series Misfits, a group of five ASBOs (look it up, I didn’t know what that meant either) are stuck doing community service in… London, I assume? I’m not sure it’s ever made clear. I’m also not sure if it’s xenophobic to assume that they’re in London just because it’s set in England. I don’t think so, but there’s a scene in the first season where two characters jay off while staring at each other.  The five main kids also have superpowers. (C)

Jon Hamm and Erin Cummings, Mad Men
In the season four premiere of Mad Men, nothing was going Don Draper’s way.  Without going into too many spoiler-y details, Erin Cummings’ eternally remembered Candice character shared a scene or two with our leading man. In a pivotal scene in the episode they sit around a fire and work on a crossword together. J/k, she totally just slaps him in the face during sex. (A)

Words: Ian Urbanski Illustration: Shannon Elliott

GARBAGE DAY

Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Heart, yes I am talking about Captain Planet. Many people associate environmentalism with gloom-and-doom predictions about the planet and how we are failing it. Art can be created from many recycled materials and found objects.

Recycling in art is not a new trend. Used canvases, for instance, were commonly painted over to create new works of art in the past, however, the modern phenomenon of creating art from recycled materials goes a lot further. Since climate change is a serious issue, many artists, architects and other designers are working on small and large scale green projects that both consider the effect of artistic materials on the environment and help spark discussion on this issue. While the direct impact of a given artwork or design may be small, the cumulative result of multiple efforts in “green art” is visible and grows bigger with every creative and sustainable art project or design.

Washed Up is an ongoing project by Mexican-born, New York-based artist Alejandro Durán. The project began in February of 2010 and proceeded with Durán making several trips to the UNESCO World Heritage site; Sian Ka’an. This coast is home to a ton of plant life as well as the world’s second largest coastal barrier reef. Regrettably, Sian Ka’an is also a depository for much of the world’s garbage, carried there by ocean currents from every corner of the globe. Durán has created several color-based, site-specific sculptures on these banks demonstrating this clash between the hands of mother-nature and Man’s mess. He then photographs these sculptures, echoing the organic forms of the surrounding landscape.

This stunning project and photo series addresses the issue of plastic pollution that’s making its way across the ocean where it inevitably washes onto the shores of Sian Ka’an, Mexico’s largest federally-protected reserve. Throughout his work Durán has identified products washed ashore from forty-two nations on six continents. The resulting photo series shows how even undeveloped land is not safe from the far-reaching impact of our disposable culture. This isn’t just about an artist turning trash into treasure. Washed Up speaks to the environmental concerns of our time and its vast quantity of discarded materials.

The new world of “garbage art” exemplifies that creativity which still blooms in every aspect of human life. In fact, often the best facilities do not nurture creativity and ideas, but rather it is the scarcity of things that gives birth to new ideas and art. Art from recycled materials and found objects is a great alternative to mass produced art. Each piece is likely to be truly individual and one of a kind. But for a very long time, the idea of recycled art did seem to be challenged in the results department. I remember attending a recycled art show, and really feeling like gluing junk to other junk which still resulted in junk – with glue!

Maybe it’s sense of humor or a perhaps a slightly twisted mind, but “garbage artists” are able to take everyday objects that are broken or discarded and mold them into a visual assault. Scrap metal, wire, old toys or bottle caps become the stuff of which these fascinating dreams/nightmares are made. One project took advantage of the mass produced enviro hazard: The Empty Water Bottle. A truly unique idea is on display in North Evanston, Illinois. The work is formed from 6000 recycled plastic bottles tipped over on a large grass field to construct five 16-foot giant bottles. Guests to the exhibit are asked to slip messages inside the small bottles for other guests to read. This project is not only an interesting community project but interactive as well.

Sometimes artwork can be done purely for the joy of it, with no method or meaning. Scrap metal parts and pieces are often a favorite industrial art medium. Although immobile, these whimsical pieces seem to have personalities that pop.
If you have ever been to the art store to buy materials, then it is clear that they don’t come cheap. People like to accumulate a lot of stuff. Some of this stuff we need, and some of it we do not. The things and stuff we do not want, need or require, accumulate. Garbage bins, dumpsters and landfills are all filling up, when there are other things that can be done with those materials we are quick to throw away.

While many “garbage artists” use trash to create their artworks for simple aesthetic purpose, or value, some artists use found materials to make direct statements about the nature of waste in our society while others employ recycled materials simply to get us to think about ordinary objects in a new and different way.

Durán’s project and a full collection of photos can be seen at www.washed-up-project.com

Words: Patrick Kriz

WHO WANTS A BRAIN MASSAGE?

I’m working on a new book project for an exhibition by Year Zero One in Toronto. The exhibition, medium_massage2.0: an infinite inventory, is curated by Michael Alstad and is concerned with contemporary perspectives on the ideas and creative processes illustrated in Marshall McLuhan and Quentin Fiore’s 1967 book The Medium is the Massage.

There have been a lot of projects this year relating to Marshall McLuhan because people are using the 100th anniversary of his birth as an occasion to re-examine his legacy and his contributions to media studies, culture, and art. I chose to look at this by making a book called Medium. In the project I’ve taken as a starting point the physical qualities of The Medium is the Massage, which is an iconic work in graphic design for the way it dealt with the relationship between text and image.

In that book, McLuhan’s short texts about the nature of media and the effects of media on human experience are matched with Fiore’s imagery, which invites interpretation on the part of the reader. It has been observed that the book acts on the human senses in a similar way as media, for example, bombarding viewers with textual and graphic information and making it necessary for a person to do a lot of mental switching around on the level of meaning as a way to make sense of things. When Michael invited me to make a new project dealing with The Medium is the Massage, I decided to deal with this aspect of it.

What I’ve done is essentially make a new edition of Fiore’s book by matching the pages of the original with similar images from the internet. Each page of the original has been fed into Google, which uses an algorithm to find similarity from within the chaotic mass of images and documents on the internet.

The algorithm is working on the level of compositional similarity so that visual pattern, rather than the meaning or context, is what drives the match. It means that when Fiore’s page features a short text next to a fingerprint, and is fed into Google, it comes back with a map of the streets near Lake Winnebago and an 1854 musical score for a song called “Happy Land”. The computer finds the spidery black and white lines in all three.

Because it is a graphical search, pages from the original that show mostly text are matched with texts from the internet and are on any subject, and this has been funny. For example, I am seeing a lot of inter-office memos come back. The machine looks at a page and returns another page that might have similar paragraph breaks, or something the same in the overall visual information from the scan. So this process transposes the text of the book as well.

There is something I like about that. It is very associative, and for me, it gets to the essence of the networked media landscape, which is so different than it was in the 1960s. In this version, the book is compiled by the network and through the network.

The images have been added by people over time and have accumulated. The whole thing is formed out of random human documents like wedding photographs, powerpoint graphics or photographs of refrigerators, and these documents are being strung together by an automatic process. I find something eerie about this book as recompiled by a machine. Fiore’s version was so highly designed and considered, whereas this version is loose, imperfect, impressionistic.
The original book is 168 pages. I’ve taken each page and matched it multiple times, keeping the pages in order, so the new version of the book is three times that. Doing it this way is like the original book is blowing up.

The book can be ordered in print form as well as downloaded at katearmstrong.com

The exhibition medium_massage2.0: an infinite inventory, features work from Kate Armstrong, Myfanwy Ashmore, Jeremy Bailey, David Jhave Johnston, Willy Le Maitre, Martine Neddam, Rafael Rozendaal, Cheryl Sourkes, Donna Szoke and KD Thornton can be found here.

Words: Kate Armstrong

What do bacon covered doughnuts, green tea beer, strip clubs and farm-to-table restaurants have in common? A little place called, Portland. Much like the bran-muffin-hippy-jam society Portlandia portrays, Portland’s restaurant culture and nightlife is shockingly progressive for a society supposedly stuck in the 90s.

If hoarder-like vintage stores and microbreweries run by goatee sporting bald dudes sounds like your type of haven, then Portland is a perfect west coast getaway.
If this is beginning to sound like an episode of Wayne’s World that never ended, think again. Portland is actually an adventurous, forward thinking, surprisingly sexy and completely laid back city. If it were a person it would be that girl that lets you go all the way but will never let you call her your girlfriend.

I headed to Portland via Amtrak and found myself in downtown Portland eight long hours later. Yes, the train is slow but they allow you to bring your bike on for a small extra fee and the cost of the ticket is a quarter of what you’d be paying in fuel fees, and you can drink cheap American beer along the way.

The great charm about Portland is it’s full of modernly renovated boutique hotels, most of which are restored heritage buildings converted into affordable suites. We opted for the Jupiter for its central location and 50s motel decor. Our room overlooked the restaurant courtyard and provided chalkboard doors encouraging you to display your artistic abilities or what I later discovered to express your sexual orientation. I was later told it was an open door policy. Draw your sexual symbol of what you are open for, and the swingers from downstairs or joining rooms are welcome to enter at your invitation.

Once you’re settled and have rightfully stated your sexual preference there’s plenty of amazing spots to indulge in what Portland does best, food. Another convenient aspect of the Jupiter is that you’re surrounded by some of Portland’s hottest eateries.
We started at Biwa which is a farm-to-table izakaya-style restaurant with a beautiful patio and incredibly dangerous cocktail list. What actually blew my mind about this place were the piedmontese beef lettuce wraps which were delicately placed on a bed of house grown shiso. The rest of their menu is equally as impressive.

If Japanese isn’t your bag, around the corner is the divinely popular, Le Pigeon, providing traditional French cuisine combined with a casual modern aesthetic. If you’re looking for a rich and savory place to have a romantic dinner, this is the spot. With its warm candle lighting and fabulous selection of wine, you’ll be fondling your sweetheart French style by the time your sweetbreads arrive. Further east along Burnside you’ll find Laurelhurst Market, a delicious steakhouse inspired brasserie that quite possibly has the best bacon infused kale dish I have ever ingested.

When you’ve had your fill of decadent treats and are looking for something to stimulate your pulse, Portland’s Hawthorn District is littered with microbrewery/pubs which have the most incredible beer selection I have come across this side of Europe. Green Dragon Bistro and Pub’s green tea mead punched my taste buds in the mouth. I could have filled up a barrel of the stuff 20s prohibition style and smuggled it home with me, it was bloody sublime.

South of the neighborhood resides the Apex which contains over 150 different beers and doesn’t serve anything else, nada, not even food. Be sure to bring your ID with you, because even if you’re forty and sporting a fading glory mullet, their bartenders there say if you don’t have plastic you don’t get service. Oh and don’t forget your sharpie, cause tagging the bathroom is totally encouraged.

If you’re looking to discover some of the local music scene there’s plenty of venues to be explore. I stumbled across Holocene, a multilevel venue that seemed to promote spooky style music and perfectly mixed Negronis. They’re known for catering to up and coming indie bands highlighting gritty infused garage rock that will have you dancing to your shoes until the wee hours. And when you’re finally ready to call it a night, Doug Fir, conveniently located under the Jupiter hotel, has a new act performing nightly. And if you miss the first 20 minutes of a show, they’ll usually wave the cover charge; not a bad incentive when you’re staggering home after a night of indulgence and debauchery.

A great way to sweat out your hangover and discover the inner city delights is to cruise around on bikes. Whether you brought your own or rent from one of the multiple rental shops, Portland’s landscape is primarily flat, so even if you’re completely energy sucked, riding around the neighborhoods is, like the rest of this city, pretty darn laid back. While you’re riding around be sure to check out the plethora of food trucks scattered around the city, another colorful insight into Portland’s food scene.

There is also no lack of amazing taco spots in this city either. If you have an hour or more to eat, I recommend standing in an insanely long line at Por Que No? and indulging in one of their in house prepared juices and traditional tacos. If you’re downtown and looking for a taco fix, Santeria (located on the West side of Chinatown) provides a day-of-the-dead style decor and a bartender that does anything but skimp out on the booze. I’m pretty sure there was about five ounces in my first drink. Be sure to check out the bathrooms here, when you think you’ve reached the lavatory at the end of the establishment you may actually find yourself transported into the oldest strip club in Portland, Mary’s Club. It’s really quite amazing. One minute you’re eating tacos the next minute you’re in a dark room listening to Courtney Love while observing a stripper with three other old men playing video lottery games. It’s like the sexy Narnia you’ve always dreamed of.

To end your day on a relaxed note I recommend catching a movie at the Living Room Theater. It’s an independent movie house equipped with a healthy food menu ranging from cheese plates to truffles, and a full bar. The films they screen are unconventional and usually independently produced. And if film is your forte they encourage submissions of shorts and features to be considered for full or pre-show screenings. Why isn’t every independent film community like this? I asked myself the same thing.

When it comes to film, art, food and nightlife, Portland does it better than the rest. It truly is the place where the young go to retire. So if you’re young, moderately ambitious and in need of a cultural punch in the face, head to Oregon’s east coast and take part in the cultural excursion outside of the 90s.

Words and Photography: Jenna Ledger

RAF SIMONS #15

Should we talk about how cool embroidery is? Your grandma does it. We did it in kindergarten. It was awesome! André Azevedo fuses several artistic techniques; drawing, painting and even sewing over fabrics to build layered pieces. Azevedo’s work reflects his observations of the small gestures and actions of people and the manipulation of the human form. The many textures and layers create an illusion of frozen movement in the eyes of the viewer. In his current series titled Raf Simons #15, Azevedo works with pen, pencil, watercolor paint, and tulle on canvas to pay tribute to iconic designer Raf Simons and his 15 year legacy in the fashion industry.

André Azevedo was born in Curitiba, Brazil. He went to the Universidade Federal do Paraná, where he studied design. He began a career as a Ford Model agent, and then moved into art direction, where he began winning awards for his work. Now he’s moved into mixed media and at only 32, the Brazilian’s work has already been seen all over the world. In 2009 he began to garner attention when his work appeared in The NYC Affordable Art Fair at the Living With Art gallery. The next was a big year. Azevedo’s work appeared in the 2010 Brazillian Design Biennial and was accepted into the Brazilian Sculpture Museum of Sao Paulo. This was also the year he collaborated with luxury car brand Alfa Romeo and was contracted by Lacoste to participate in a unique art project, PEACETU.

The project´s aim was to highlight fashion, music and art in the French-Brazilian cultural axis. Eight artists (three French, five Brazilians) gathered in a home-studio in Santa Teresa to create the exposition, Héritage, a creative experience between the two countries, inspired by the story of Rene Lacoste and its brand.

Azevedo’s times in the fashion industry appear to heavily influence his work by his demonstration of his love for the human form. It was a fashion journalist friend of Azevedo’s who suggested combining his two passions, fashion and art. In his new series, Raf Simons # 15, he does just this. He utilizes three seemingly disjointed mediums in an extremely subtle way. His use of bold colours and a heavier hand than in his previous work demonstrate Simons’ industrial stylistic influence. Like Simons’ work that celebrates youth, Azevedo uses layers to highlight the nuances of body shape and line.

Although Belgian fashion designer Raf Simons may not be all that well-known to the average consumer, he’s worshipped by fashion industry insiders and considered by many in the business to be the top menswear designer working today. Simons was born on January 12, 1968, in Neerpelt, Belgium in a small Flemish village near the German border, in a world he describes as devoid of arts and culture. “I was an only child. My family was more working-class. My dad was in the army and my mom was a cleaning lady her whole life. I was completely unaware of the possibility of art.” The one and only music shop in his small town became his main means of escape. Artists such as David Bowie, as well as bands like Kraftwerk and Joy Division were among his favorites and remain influential in his current design.

At the time though, becoming a musician was out of the question. Simons parents had worked hard to earn enough to support him through higher level study to help him get away from his small town. They didn’t care what he became; whether it was a doctor, a teacher or a lawyer, as long as he went and studied it at university. Then, just before high-school graduation, Simons found a book at a friends house. Inside there was one page about industrial design. It’s amazing how something so small can have such a massive effect on someone’s life. Inspired, Simons began studying industrial design in university. During these years the Belgian fashion industry was growing rapidly and Simons found himself captivated by all the novelty and excitement. He began his career with an internship with Walter Van Beirendonck in Paris, where he was exposed to the work of Martin Margiela and Jean-Paul Gaultier. At the age of 27 Simons released his first independent collection on his label Raf by Raf Simons and immediately attracted a huge underground following.

Achieving commercial success takes a backseat to moving fashion forward when it comes to his vision for the labels he directs, and that’s the main reason Raf Simons has gained a godlike stature within the fashion community. The Belgian designer has long been the headlight for radical menswear.  His ultimate fixation on youth culture in his earliest collections for his eponymous label found a niche market of young European hipsters, but more importantly, influenced other brands’ more mainstream designs. Throughout the 90s and the early 2000s, he showed how innovative design can embrace new technologies and fabrics and rethink traditional structures. In 2005, Simons turned from rogue independent to the man behind a mega-brand, taking the reins of the men’s and women’s lines at Jil Sander and likely saving the Jil Sander mark. His highly influential vision might be best summed up by stylist/editor Marie-Amélie Sauve, who, in a 2005 New York Times Magazine piece, commented, “He did everything before anyone else, and everybody has copied him.”

Simons is anything but typical in the fashion industry. In fact he makes great effort to avoid the typical structured fashion world in general. In the series Raf Simons #15, André Azevedo’s fusion of multiple mediums including embroidery also step outside his worlds typical structure and form. The series serves as a compelling tribute to the iconic designer Raf Simons and his 15 year legacy in the fashion industry. Azevedo’s exceptional synthesis of fashion, and art have most recently landed him the prestigious fashion illustration book by Martin Dawber The Great Big Book Of Fashion Illustration. No doubt we’ll be hearing more from him soon.

THE COSMIC GUTTER

In the late 16th century it already had a bad reputation amongst moralists for being a shithole full of beggars, tramps, drunkards and thieves. Maybe that’s why Shakespeare loved it so much. Founded centuries before Brooklyn, Shoreditch is the world’s longest reigning “it spot”.

Once home to royal jesters and Elizabethan comedians, the neighbourhood has recently hosted the likes of Damien Hirst and Peaches Geldof; the latest in a long line of misfits to populate its vomit-stricken cobblestones. Since being labeled as terra non grata way back when, every few decades has ushered in a new era. From French Huguenot refugees and Ashkenazi Jews, to Bangladeshi immigrants and wayward hipsters, each wave of migration adding a fresh puff of cream to the multicultural layer cake.

In the 90s, Shoreditch became the district of choice for Young British Artists, both moneyed and penniless. Soon after that, it became infamous for “the Shoreditch twat,” a pejorative used to describe the overdressed twentysomethings that flocked to the ditch upon learning of its reputation.

Still, Shoreditch survived and evolved, and against all odds remains one of the best places on the planet to spend your pay-cheque on pints and live on the cheap. But with the 2012 summer Olympics drawing nigh, many are worried that the days of affordable rent and ramshackle vibrancy could be lost in the pounds and pence.

Recently, ION chatted with the berg’s preeminent documentarist, Scottish photographer Dougie Wallace. Over the past decade Wallace has crept its streets, snapping the drunken and drugged debauchery with a gonzo style that will no doubt serve as a historical record for this, the latest chapter in Shoreditch’s checkered history.

So you’re from Scotland yeah?

Yeah. Glasgow, but I’ve lived here fifteen years. It’s good, you get used to it.

Has the neighbourhood changed much?

It’s changed tremendously, but I think it’s for the better, it’s like the new SoHo; the place where everybody goes drinking and meets up and stuff.

Has it gotten more expensive?

Yeah, there’s always been that, artists might say that the rent is going up and you have to get a bit further out, that’s gonna happen with celebrities and that. It’s radically changed but that doesn’t mean it’s for the worse.

Your photos are along the lines of typical party photography, but you’ve got quite a original take on it.

Yeah it’s more like clubland without getting too kitsch, more autobiographical. I’m basically a street photographer, so I try to capture the common denominator behind it all. Rather than sort of, randomy pictures.

And how did you get into street photography?

Em, just when I picked up a camera about ten years ago. I’m sort of a travel photographer as well. These Shoreditch pictures are just pictures I’ve been taking … usually I’m just wandering the street and I see a picture, or I’m out clubbing and I’ve always got my camera, but now I’m actively pursuing it. Usually I do reportage or travel, and it just so happens that I live in Shoreditch. But now I’m actively getting out and taking pictures of Shoreditch, when I never used to. You know what I mean.

So how do you approach photographing a trendy area without it seeming totally cheesy?

I dunno, I’ve just always been here. I only use the good pictures. I approach people with a flash so I get compared to Bruce Gilden a little bit. I jump out at people, so usually you’ll get a an expression in the face. But I don’t always jump at people, obviously.

POST-NORDIC CONTOURS

Icelanders are a rare bunch, and with a population just over 300,000, their global profile betrays their modest numbers. Said to be the most literate people in the world, they are a nation of over-achievers, but in recent years, the little green island’s capacity for the exceptional has been smothered under a blanket of disaster.

In 2008, Iceland was the first country to get hammered by the global credit crisis, and it was hit hard and fast. Drubbed into the ground by the same market abstractions that transformed what was a remote fishing outpost into a hub for transatlantic capital. Within a few weeks of the crash, all of their major banks collapsed. Unemployment tripled, the government fell and people started blowing up their SUVs to collect insurance because their currency had lost two thirds of its value.

In 2010, just as Icelanders started to emerge from their vicious economic hangover, Eyjafjallajökul blew its top and spewed 140 million cubic metres of magma discharge across continental Europe, holding tourists from all corners of the world hostage as the fallout made its way into Russia. Around the same time, The Best Party, a satirical political party founded by anarchist-cum-comedian Jon Gnarr, won Rejkyavik’s municipal election. Their election theme song was Tina Turner’s “Simply the Best”.

All of the aforementioned may or may not be relevant to understanding the work of Siggi Eggertsson, an Icelandic illustrator/designer living as an ex-pat in Berlin. But the troubles of Eggertsson’s homeland provide a revealing backdrop to a visual style that has been frequently applauded for its “difference”.

I first met Siggi in Antwerp a couple years back while attending a design conference and was struck by how typically Icelandic he seemed – reserved, tall, blonde, and dressed in black from head to toe. Admittedly, having never met an Icelander before, my preconception of what “typically Icelandic” looked like was the stuff of fantasy, but nonetheless, he fit the part perfectly.

But over some beer and steak I learned that, as with the pre-crash Icelandic economy, the image only hinted at the reality, and that Siggi had a personality as distinct as his work suggests. When one talks to a celebrated European designer, rarely does the subject of Shawn Kemp and the ‘96 Seattle Supersonics come up, but it turned out that Siggi is a huge basketball fan, so we had plenty to discuss.

I recently caught up with Siggi via Skype and talked a bit about Berlin, Nintendo, and LeBron James.

I know you’re a big fan, so I wanted to ask you about LeBron James – what do you like about him?

I just think he’s an amazing player who just gets better and better, and he seems like a cool person off the pitch too. I watched a lot of basketball when Jordan was playing, because there was nothing like him, then when he retired; I lost interest in the sport. And now, somehow, LeBron managed to pull me back into the game.

Is there a certain trait you focused on when you illustrate him?

Not really, I just wanted to draw him, no deep thought behind it. Perhaps in the back of my head I was hoping that someone at his camp sees my work and I get to work with him one day. That would make me feel great.

He’s apparently the most over-analyzed basketball player ever. And he’s got an interesting career arc, from hometown hero to something of a villain. What do you think of the amount of hate he’s received since leaving Cleveland?

I think it’s a bit pathetic. They should rather appreciate what he did for the team when he was there. If he wants to leave, change something in his life, that should completely be up to him, and you can’t really hold anything against him. But I suppose I would feel differently if I was from Cleveland.

Did you get to see the finals?

Yeah, great finals – first time I watched it in a while. Kind of sucks watching the games at 3 AM, but it was worth it.

Do you watch the games at home or does Berlin have some good late-nite sports bars?

I just watch at home. It’s a bit late for going out to watch basketball.

Berlin has developed a mythical status over the years, sort of a Shangri-La for “creatives”. How has the city treated you since you moved there, and what keeps you there?

I really like the city, it’s cheap compared to other European capitals and I can afford a nice apartment. I still don’t speak any German, and that’s a bit annoying. I’m sure I would like the city even more if I could understand everything, but at the same time I kind of like not understanding anything. It helps me focus on my work. So I’m not really in the scene, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t work for German clients, I just live here because I think it’s nice.

How does the German experience compare to that of Iceland? Is there anything you miss?

It’s definitely different. You can’t get lost in Reykjavik, and everyone knows everyone. And no, nothing I really miss about Iceland that I would like to bring here, but many things I would like to bring to Iceland.

Such as?

Like for example being able to buy beer and wine in a kiosk, instead of having to go to a government run alcohol store that closes at 5 pm. Just stuff like that, stupid rules that no one needs.

I remember we talked a bit about the internet when I was in Antwerp – you seemed to be a fan. How do you think the internet has affected your life? If you were born ten years earlier, would you still be a designer living in Berlin?

The internet is the best invention ever. I got into design when I was rather young, around 13-14, when programs were starting to become usable, and at the same time the internet was becoming mainstream, so I kind of grew up with it. The internet gives (almost) everyone access to information and the ability to share things, so everyone has an equal chance. You don’t have to be in magazines anymore to be noticed.

I think the power of the internet is especially profound when it comes to design/visual arts. The popularity of design seems to have exploded over the years, as with the output.

I agree. But it also has to do with the tools. Now everyone has a computer, so anyone can design something.

But, there’s also some danger when it comes to consuming visual content online. For instance, if you look at certain Flickr groups, or certain blogs, you notice that people will seek out others with similar styles…

Absolutely, I don’t look at it at all. I avoid those websites like fire. I don’t believe you can create something original when you are constantly consuming what other people are currently making. At least that applies for myself. But I made a Tumblr the other day, with stuff that I find inspiring, so maybe I’m just taking part in the whole thing, but I just wanted to share those with people.

That’s one thing that really strikes me about your work – it feels like you’ve embraced the true nature of the programs you use in order to create something entirely new.

The programs are just tools, and I’ve been working with them for such a long time, so it kind of becomes an extension of myself. I probably have different working methods and ways to do things than other people, but it works out for me.

So what is your day like?

Recently it’s been waking up, going out to get breakfast and coffee, go to the studio, answer emails, work, work work, have dinner, work work, go to sleep. Deceptively simple.  But I’m trying to get out of that routine now, going to try to enjoy a little bit of the summer here in Berlin too.

Do you play any ball there?

No, just NBA Jam on the Wii

Do you play many videogames?

Every now and then. Currently playing Paper Mario, really like it. Then I sometimes play StarCraft 2, but recently I’ve just been watching others play StarCraft 2. With commentary, it’s really like watching sports. I’m not sure if you have to know the game to be able to enjoy watching it though, but after following a few players for a while you start recognizing their playing style and tactics. Everything is really thought out, a bit like a chess match.

So, you own a Wii? Not an Xbox/PS3? (I only have a Wii and I’m not ashamed to admit it)

Yeah I only have a Wii, and just recently got it. I’m always a bit afraid of devices that are designed to waste your time. Had my friends Xbox for a while though, was playing the UFC game with friends, that was a lot of fun. But I’m more of a Nintendo guy, prefer clever design/gameplay rather than crazy graphics. Haters gonna hate.

Is there anything specific about Nintendo that you dig?

They are just a bit like the Apple of the console companies. I like the controllers of the Wii, and how you can use them in different ways. And I think the new controller for the Wii U is going to be really cool too.

What are you doing the rest of the day?

Think I’m going to try to work a little bit, then tonight I’m going to try a flotation tank for the first time, kind of excited about that. I’ve wanted to try that for a long time, think it will be nice.

Sounds chill.

- Douglas Haddow

If spring is signaled by the arrival of the birds and bees, it might not be a stretch to say summer arrives with beaches, bikes, babes and books. There are a couple of ways to approach summer reading. While some might look to blaze away the long days with an easy page-turner, others might find that the leisurely pace accommodates more difficult reading. Whether it’s a sleazy graphic novel or labyrinthine French prose in translation or some smart non-fiction; we take a look at some of the most buzzed-about books of the year and a sneak peek at two of early fall’s most anticipated releases, because we’re all hoping for a long, hot summer.

PAYING FOR IT – CHESTER BROWN

Chester Brown’s canonical graphic novel biography of Louis Riel is such a landmark work it has found its way into high school and college history curricula nationwide. Though, far from a composer of some heartland “great Canadian stories,” closer followers of the often contentious Brown should find it no surprise his follow-up novel be almost as far removed from the classroom as possible. Paying For It is a comic memoir of Brown’s history as a john, a “frank and guileless” first-person account of the workings of the prostitution industry from its very front-lines. Beginning by making a case against romantic love and taking off with an argument in favor of decriminalization, Brown’s agenda might suggest sensationalism, but his sobering, painfully honest renditions — his masterful comic execution — turn what may have been mere agitprop into a haunting portrait of a very lonely man.

1Q84 – HARUKI MURAKAMI

1Q84, Murakami’s alleged magnum opus sold out in less than a day upon its original release in Japan and has sent his legion of English-speaking fans in a frenzy, this release being no doubt the big literary event of the fall. Plot details were sparse and kept under-wraps almost until its release in Japan. We now know that the story concerns a novelist and a gym teacher and their involvement with a mysterious religious cult. The Japan Times has called it “a mandatory read for anyone trying to get to grips with contemporary Japanese culture.”

THE ART OF ASKING YOUR BOSS FOR A RAISE – GEORGES PEREC

France’s Georges Perec — who once wrote a novel without the use of the letter e, and has been dead for almost 30 years — would be pleased at this slim new volume of previously untranslated work (pleased at the actual physical slimness of the book; Perec famously concerned with the size of his library). It’s full title, which I doubt would fit across the spine, is The Art and Craft of Approaching Your Head of Department to Submit a Request for a Raise. David Bellos deserves some sort of recognition for translating this oddball office satire, deciphering a prose style that lacks punctuation, paragraph breaks, or even capital letters; Perec wrote the novel after being asked by a computer company to compose a piece based on then contemporary program-planning methods. Though this schematic style may seem unbearable, Perec is no mere experimentalist, and the work of pouring through this slight, dense work pays off as the machinations begin to betray moments of actual beauty.

THE ART OF FIELDING – CHAD HARBACH

Chad Harbach, one of the founders of n+1 and one of their current editors-in-chief, has been the subject of much literary hullabaloo in the last few months. Allegedly the pen behind n+1’s widely discussed unsigned essay on the state of book publishing (”MFA vs. NYC”), Harbach’s The Art of Fielding has been the subject of much speculation. Being some nine years in the making, Harbach’s manuscript was at the center of an eight publisher auction that ended with Little, Brown & Company purchasing its rights for $650 000 and moved underneath the scalpel of onetime David Foster Wallace editor Michael Pietsch. Let it be noted that Harbach had lost a copy editing job and had been unemployed — outside of n+1 duties (a nonprofit organization) — for five months before finally finishing and selling the work.

THE TIGER’S WIFE – TEA OBREHT

As the only unpublished author to be selected to last year’s controversial The New Yorker 20 authors under 40 list — and the youngest, just recently turning 25 — Tea Obreht’s much buzzed-about and little known-about manuscript was under heavy scrutiny. The Tiger’s Wife follows a young doctor as she sorts through a war-torn, unnamed, Balkan country looking for answers to questions that surround her grandfather’s death; employing a narrative style demonstrating nothing less than “the crushing power of myth, story, and memory” and drawing favourable comparisons to Bulgokov and Garcia Marquez. Obreht, though, benefiting from the kind of promotional push most novelists can only dream of, has picked up glowing reviews and endorsements, giving way to her win of the prestigious Orange Prize earlier this spring.

- RJ Basinillo

RAW LIKE SUSHI

Just hopped the red eye back from Tokyo town. The city is somehow more profoundly exciting than I remembered it, maybe because the typical tourist stock is missing in action. That phantom nuke paranoia still has the whole world shook, but fear not – there’s never been a better time to check out Godzilla’s old stomping grounds.

I was in Harajuku last week drinking a milkshake and didn’t see a single pervert out ogling schoolgirls. Bananas. Akihabara, electronics capital of the world, was vacant save for a few nerds trying to track down spare Sega CD parts. The cliché index in this city has hit rock bottom. Everybody thinks they’ll catch a case of radiation poisoning from a sketchy sushi roll – a little bit of disaster porn and we’re all Litvinenkos in waiting. Across the country, travel receipts have been cut in half or worse. Even Okinawa has caught the bad juju. It’s a lamentable state of affairs for the Japanese economy, but a great opportunity for the casual grid tripper.

Beyond the bleating of a bloodthirsty news media, Tokyo is realer than ever, maybe even more real than it’s been in decades, if such a thing is possible. The cash registers are getting dusty, but the city’s throbbing neon glow always blots out the darkness.

The tourist traps are deserted, as are the temples, but this absence of bustle works in the city’s favour. The last time I was there, four years ago, I went to pay my respects to the Shinto gods and found the swarms of bored travelers to be off-putting, even borderline offensive to the senses. Agitated teenagers walking past thousand year old artifacts with their DSLR’s on blast not even looking at anything in particular. Boredom is infectious. Your auto-immune system can’t help but react to the drool, and I’m not even a fan of history. But when it’s just me and a gang of stray cats, I can dig it.

Meanwhile, Tokyo by dark is persistently unfathomable. For the late-night prowler it’s an endless sea of bars, karaoke joints, discos, convenience stores and sex hotels, always in that order, and never the same street twice. You lose yourself, then find yourself the next day sleeping face down on the street, a group of polite garbagemen gently prodding you with a stick. With less static jamming the experiential radar, the mystery and magic kicks in a lot quicker. No LSD necessary, but it’s just a Shibuya headshop away anyways.

I have a theory that the shittier the Japanese economy gets, the more dynamic its culture becomes. In the 80s, when Japan was in the midst of taking over the world with its invincible auto-electronic complex, Tokyo was where art went to die. When the bubble popped and things fell apart, new styles started to gurgle up from the proverbial ramen broth. And then in the oughts they straight up took over. From the gallery to the street, style oozed out of every manhole.

The quickest route to the city’s heart is a trip down Shinjuku’s “Golden Gai”, also known as “Piss Alley”. A series of tiny backstreets jam-packed with ramshackle bars and drunks of all stripes.

The night before my flight I spent all my remaining yen drinking saké with the weirdest of the weird and the straightest of the straight. Suffice to say, I got appropriately pissed.

I ended up going on an aerosol tear with an out-of-work engineer and only made my flight in spite of myself and on account of an empty wallet.

Once the next disaster strikes, the tourists will set aside their paranoia and return in droves. But for the time being, it’s Tokyo in the raw.

Words: Bogue Roberts
Photography: Jordan Todd

YOU’RE TEARING ME APART

If you’ve ever seen The Room, a movie made back in 2003 yet still enjoying cult status to this day as one of the worst, or at least strangest movies ever made, you know that it’s kind of all over the place. Centered on the story of a love triangle in San Francisco, plot points are mentioned once and then dropped completely from the narrative, characters disappear mid-movie, and the apartment where much of the movie takes place is decorated with artistic spoon photography. That’s part of what makes it so strange; so nonsensical, so enjoyable. As I was trying to process the very surreal experience of having just interviewed the film’s director, writer, producer and star, Tommy Wiseau, a friend framed it for me this way: could anyone else have made The Room? And, after having just a twenty-minute conversation with him, I think it’s fair to say “no”.

The movie was released to a brief initial theatrical run in 2003 and then on DVD in 2005. Since then, it’s been played in smaller theatres across the world. These screenings, often monthly events, involve full audience participation. People dress up, sing along to the soundtrack, make jokes, and throw spoons and footballs around. For the past two years, Tommy Wiseau has been touring with his film, making personal appearances and holding Q&A sessions with the audience before screenings of the movie. I met with him the night before he and Room co-star Greg Sestero did a series of Q&As at The Royal theatre in Toronto as part of their current “Love Is Blind” tour.

What’s your favourite thing about touring with The Room?
It’s fun to meet the fans and have a groovy time, basically. [laughs] You meet a lot of people.

What do you like about having Q&A sessions?
I like to interact with people and have a groovy time as well, you know. People ask questions and each time it’s different, it’s not the same.

What do you hope your fans get out of it?
Well, anything they want to ask. Some people go overboard but that’s okay. I’m just like pro-freedom so they can ask whatever they want.

What do you get out of it?
I started [studying] psychology. I’m learning about human behaviour. I didn’t realize that The Room actually connects people. [It] is totally a different cookie cutter from Hollywood. You can do whatever you want, you have no restrictions. I’ve said this many times. You can laugh, you can cry, you can express yourself but please don’t hurt your children.

What do you think it is about the movie that draws people out for midnight screenings?
It just happened. I don’t know if it’s coincidence or some kind of destiny. Maybe destiny, that’s the word that I want to use. Midnight’s funny because you actually go out and you can see The Room, have a groovy time with friends, go to a bar, maybe have a couple drinks, whatever. You don’t have to see The Room with someone. You can go by yourself and maybe you meet somebody. In Los Angeles it’s very common that people go to The Room by one or maybe even meet some friends or talk to people, whatever.

How do you feel about the fan interaction? People dressing up? Does it excite you people get that into it?
I think it’s flattering. You create something from scratch like I did with The Room, and somebody dresses up, I think it’s complimentary. I have no issue with that except when people try to tamper with my project or try to use it as commercial value without telling us. That’s pretty unfair. But we have many fans that use it just for fun. I think I like that. It’s pretty cool.

How do you want people to view The Room in 10 years?
That’s a hard one. That’s a good question too. I like challenge. I would say probably it will be bigger, and maybe more people will actually understand The Room, because there’s a misinterpretation of The Room with many different media or bloggers, whatever we have there. And then I think sometimes it’s really unfair, because I believe in research, like everything else. The Room is by design. I designed it a certain way. It must be a different thing. And plus it’s based on 600 pages of my novel, by me. So it had already been written and condensed to 99 minutes of script.

How would you like them to understand it, though?
Well, first of all, I want people to enjoy themselves. That’s number one. And forget about me, forget the world, just say whatever you want, you have no restriction. You don’t offend me when you say “Oh I don’t like The Room, it’s boring” or whatever. I know it’s not boring. If I make you laugh a little bit, I think I’m doing a good job but it’s up to you. The more they laugh, the more fun they have, the better. [laughs]

What do you want people to take out of The Room in the end?
I like people to be a better person. That’s my accomplishment. And I think all filmmakers should entertain… this is my take, I cannot speak for someone else. If I strike you as a viewer and you say you can be a better person for another person, have a little better respect, I think I’m doing a good job. And that’s what I want people to remember, this is not fantasy, it’s a real thing that can happen to people. So if they be much more positive I would like that. I don’t know if I accomplished that but I got a lot of emails, thousands of emails, from across the world and it’s very positive. People say thank you.

I’ve read that you think there’s magnetism to The Room that attracts people to see it?
Absolutely.

Where do you think that magnetism comes from?
I think because it’s original number one and number two, I think it’s sincere. And I say this many times, you don’t have to like The Room, but if you’re sincere with your criticism, everybody would support this and embrace this, because it’s from your heart. But as soon as you try to bash somebody or be very disrespectful, that’s not right. My view about entertainment is the audience decides if they want to see your project. I’m just relaxed. Say whatever you want. You decide if you like it or not. But [we] have also a certain situation with The Room where people are spinning right or left but I say one thing. You know what? Sometimes, I’m sorry, you don’t know what you’re talking about. See negative is good, but when you’re not sincere, it’s not right. That’s what I believe. I look at it like Shakespeare or Leonardo Di Vinci or Lincoln or other people through history; you can see that these people have been very sincere with their productions or creativity. And that’s what I am about.

Sincerity?
I think so, yeah. I don’t say I think so, I’m pretty sure I am. Because I want to be real, I don’t want to be phony. Like all plastic, you know? I believe very strong if you share something like that, people will embrace.

You mentioned before how you observe human behaviour and study psychology?
Yeah.

Do you consider yourself an observer of behaviour?
Good question, I commend you again. I did this study, before I shot The Room. I interviewed people on the street, and I asked them questions about relationships and I discover, wait a minute, I’m so blind. You go to school you read all these books but it’s different when you’re actually doing your own research. And I interview some people on the street and I say, “Wait a minute, it’s not me who has a problem. We all have our problems.” And that’s why I say, The Room, you can compare it to, for example, the character of Lisa, you can compare Lisa to Cleopatra for example. I encourage people to see that.

Is that what The Room is about to you? Exploring human behaviour?
Absolutely. Again, how much you can love someone, directly, indirectly. Is it for money, is it for feelings? You go to certain level of relationship, and it’s okay to be honest or dishonest. We as a human, generally speaking, we’re very greedy people, we rarely think objectively. So we want everything to go our way but then we may forget about the other, our environment, or whatever you have there.

Do you think The Room will be your legacy?
You said it, I didn’t. That’s a good statement. I accept it, if that’s what it will be.

So you’re okay with it?
Absolutely. I say to somebody also, I think last year, “I will always be connected to The Room”. I’m proud of my project. This is the best project that I have, even though it’s my first project. [laughs] Actually, you know what, it’s the second project, because I did a sort of short movie for the school on super 8, and I did everything from scratch. But, I’m proud of my project. I’m very proud that I was stubborn. I was very proud that I did not pitch in to big studio even though I had a great respect for them. I’m proud of this stuff, to be honest with you. It was a rollercoaster ride. It was difficult, extremely difficult. Actually, to be honest with you, difficult is not the word. Super extremely difficult.

Super extremely difficult?
Absolutely. That’s a good one.

Words & Photography: Warren Haas

INFINITE STRESS

Zadie Smith called him an “actual genius”, with no equal among living writers. George Saunders said he was “The first among us. The most talented, most daring, most energetic and original, the funniest, the least inclined to rest on his laurels or believe all the praise.” Jonathan Franzen said he “wrote… as well as anyone who put words to paper.” His centrality to this latest generation of American letters was undeniable; his ceiling seemed to be the rarefied air of Melville or Joyce, the frontrunner to diagnose the ills of the present, and to heal or perhaps even save. However he was ill himself, once again stricken by the clinical depression that plagued him since college, the sickness that had him on medication that refused to work anymore. The sickness he once described in his fiction as “a kind of infinitely horrifying billowing black sail at the edge of perception.” And so it’s so unspeakably sad that, on a late mid-September afternoon nearly three years ago, with a nail and a belt, he would decide to hang himself from his porch. The world still mourns David Foster Wallace.

DFW (the affectionate shorthand preferred by Wallace acolytes) inspires the kind of unprecedented fandom, among peers and readers alike, that makes it difficult to, as a recent review in the New York Review of Books stated, “read him sensibly.” A writer of prodigious talent; owner of a hysterical imagination, nearly unparalleled verbosity (tempered by a strict grammarian’s ideals of structure; complicated by a deep background in philosophy: modal logic and mathematics), Wallace had the kind of skill more typically reserved less for bestsellers than committed avant-gardists. He still is, however, in some respect, the last in a line of great American postmodernists — the Gaddis, Pynchon, DeLillo inheritance – and likewise reading DFW at times is entirely difficult work. It’s a wonder that The Pale King, the unfinished manuscript of a difficult, dead writer — fragments of a novel concerned no less with the topics of boredom, drudgery and tax code — be greeted with the kind of fervor reminiscent of the last Harry Potter release.

It’s something apart from the labyrinthine stories and sheer linguistic firepower, his technical brilliance, that drew readers en masse. Wallace — who carried himself much like the reformed smart-ass he was — tried desperately to write with affection and warmth, to fix the austere, alienating manner of his Pynchonian precursors, to tether the brainwork with actual emotional gravity. A postmodernist with a heart. So far, this has been his legacy. Even those unfamiliar with Wallace have probably felt his influence: Dave Eggers and his McSweeney’s school of writing can be seen as an extension of Wallace’s “deeply felt” sensibility and humour; Wallace sans prolixity. It’s to this end that current editor of The Paris Review and former Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux senior editor, Lorin Stein, once said, “David Foster Wallace changed the way we read and write.”

Up until the publication of The Pale King last month, Wallace had only two published novels to his name (the first, 1987’s The Broom of the System, a comic systems novel that was originally his college senior thesis in English) and three highly acclaimed short story collections; Girl With Curious Hair (1989), Brief Interviews with Hideous Men (1999) and Oblivion (2004). Although regarding himself as a fiction writer foremost, where Wallace had really built his reputation was off of his non-fiction work, the essays and articles collected in A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again (1997) and Consider the Lobster (2005). These heady non-fiction pieces, marked by his razor-sharp observational wit, his unapologetic first-person presence, and breathless sentences that spilled out onto his trademark footnotes, and footnotes upon footnotes, elevated Wallace’s profile beyond his literary audience and invoked a journalistic style as unique and ground-shifting as maybe only Hunter S. Thompson and the New Journalists before him.

Regardless, at the very center of his oeuvre stands his 1996 blockbuster Infinite Jest: his supernova and apotheosis. A sprawling 980 pages in small type with an appended 96 pages of footnotes, Infinite Jest is best read as a meditation on addiction, and the role of entertainment in these complex, chemically and technologically troubled times (though, the actual plot of the novel revolves around a mysterious film [titled: Infinite Jest] that’s so entertaining it leaves it’s watchers powerless to do anything else and thus bound to death, and a conspiracy among a sect of wheelchair-bound Quebecois terrorist separatists who desire to unleash the film on the American masses, but most of the novel attends to tennis perfectionism, film theory, and alcoholic/narcotic rehab).

There is some speculation that Wallace started work on The Pale King — which revolves around a curious set of tax accountants at an IRS branch in Peoria, IL in 1985 — as early as 1996, enrolling in accounting classes for research, which would suggest he intended the work to act as a follow-up to the just-published Infinite Jest. Jokingly referring to this new project as “The Long Thing”, it seemed his intentions were to provide a panacea for the problems he would diagnose in Infinite Jest before, primarily those dealing with our relationship with entertainment; the addictions it perpetuated, the pain it falsely eclipses, the problems that go unresolved in light of its distractions. In The Pale King, Wallace suggests that the answer is something like enhanced consciousness — simple awareness – a greater control over our ability to choose what we pay attention to. And as Infinite Jest says that unrelenting pleasure through entertainment will wreak spiritual havoc, The Pale King suggests that a supreme awareness, through soul-crushing tedium and boredom, is the ultimate enlightenment. In Wallace’s own words: “Pay close attention to the most tedious thing you can find (tax returns, televised golf), and, in waves, a boredom like you’ve never known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and it’s like stepping out of black and white into color. Like water after days in the desert. Constant bliss in every atom.”

It’s both impossible and unfair to read The Pale King as a finished work. It’s not. There are some reports that suggest he felt the work to be, at most, halfway completed. And as a notorious reviser and editor, a self-proclaimed “5-draft man”, it’s most likely that there are rough bits in the published work that he would’ve polished to a shine. Michael Pietsch, Wallace’s long-time editor, was charged with the task of putting together something coherent from the 250 pages of neatly stacked manuscript that Wallace had prepped and illuminated with a lamp on his work table that September day, as well as work-in-progress fragments compiled from “hard drives, file folders, three-ring binders, spiral-bound notebooks, and floppy disks… sheaves of handwritten pages and notes.” But even with these circumstances in mind, The Pale King is a surprisingly coherent read, although not nearly finished-seeming, but affecting and satisfying in many of the ways his earlier work was. This mostly has to do less with a sort of narrative harmony than with Wallace’s excellence on a sentence-by-sentence level (”An arrow of starlings fired from the windbreak’s thatch,” from the very first page, looks to be an early critic’s favorite). Thematically The Pale King answers Infinite Jest stroke-for-stroke: boredom vs. entertainment, community vs. individualism, attention vs. distraction, oblivion vs. infinity. It’s a logical end, of sorts.

If anyone has taken up the position as the new spokesperson of difficult, high-concept writing, it’s England’s Tom McCarthy. McCarthy’s review of The Pale King in the New York Times is of the highest praise, not so much an appreciation of Wallace’s intellect as it is an ode to Wallace’s heart; the courage to grapple with the big questions, the willingness to engage in the high-wire act of the modernist literary tradition. McCarthy, and others, have been vocal about protecting this tradition, under threat of realism; the memoir boom; indifferent publishers; an indifferent audience; and an indifferent culture. It’s the tradition that David Foster Wallace died in the service of. The very least we can do is read him. We owe him much more.

Words: RJ Basinillo

RARELY DO HOTELS INTENTIONALLY WORK TO ASSOCIATE THEMSELVES WITH FECES AND ILLNESS, BUT AMSTERDAM’S HANS BRINKER BUDGET HOTEL IS NO ORDINARY HOTEL.

Billed as “The Worst Hotel In The World”, the Hans Brinker brand, developed for over 15 years by Dutch advertising agency KesselsKramer, is an exercise in counter-intuitive marketing. As you know, the modus operandi of most advertising is to tell lies about the product being pitched. KesselsKramer wanted to try something different with Brinker, so they created their campaigns for the hotel under a doctrine of “extreme honesty”.

So what you see is what you get. And what you see is a hellhole that will chew you up and spit you out. Innocence will be lost, eyes will be blackened and there will be pubes.

The campaigns have been, to say the least, terribly successful. The Hans Brinker boasts an 80% room capacity even during the low season, and has gained global repute for being shit. But is it really all that bad? Or is it just extraordinarily clever advertising? I recently had a two-day layover in Amsterdam and I wanted to know for myself, so I went and experienced it firsthand.

When I arrived I was admittedly naïve. I thought the staff’s piss-poor attitude was tounge-in-cheek, just another bit of the great Brinker pantomime. After being told that there actually was no wi-fi, anywhere, and no, it wasn’t a joke, I thought, “Okay, these guys are going the distance; I respect that.” There really are no amenities, save for a beer machine, a pub and a “night-club”, which was essentially a basement painted black and lit with a few flashing coloured lights. But at least they had a couple computers in the common area I could use to check my email, right? Wrong. The computers I was directed to had been broken for at least five years, in fact, they didn’t even look like real computers.

I poked my head in the night club and it was menacing, its only patrons were a lone group of eastern Europeans sitting in the corner glaring at each other. So I spent my first night in the hotel pub, drinking draft beer and failing to strike up a conversation with any of my fellow guests. After a few hours I stumbled back to my tiny room and went to sleep.

I can’t explain why, but I somehow managed to sleep through the entire day and when I awoke it was dark outside. Worst of all, I was damp, the bed was damp, and all my clothes were damp. At first I thought I had pissed myself, but realized it was the hotel. The dampness of the Brinker had crept inside my room and walked all over me. Far from amusing, the novelty of the hotel’s in-joke now felt depraved.

On my second night I planned to go bar-hopping, but it was pouring rain outside and I was starting to catch a bit of a cold so I spent another night in the pub.

That night was a bit different. The pub was filled with 40 or so British art students who had come to the Brinker on a field trip for a design class. But it didn’t make it better, it made things worse. The Brinker had already infected me. I tried chatting up a few girls and they looked at me like I had been struck with a case of flash-leprosy.

I slept in again, and woke up damper than the day before. My camera stopped working and it looked as if one of the maids had come in and rifled through my belongings while I was asleep. I had an evening flight so I packed my belongings and spent the rest of my evening at the airport.

No, the Hans Brinker isn’t the worst hotel on Earth. It’s something far more dreadful and profound – a concept that verges on becoming an uncanny work of art. After returning home from my time in Amsterdam, wherein I experienced absolutely nothing that great city has to offer, there was a certain indistinct residue left by the experience, a stain that I’ve yet to scrub off.

Words: Douglas Haddow

JESS BAUMUNG
A Manitoba to Toronto transplant, Jess Baumung is at the top of the photography game with a focus on music. A contributor to publications ranging from Mojo to The Globe and Mail, ION is lucky enough to finally feature Jess’ work.

FOCUS

Friend of ION, DJ, and photographer Hana Pesut recently returned from a trip to Japan. The next few pages are a sample of her experiences in the land of the rising sun.

CHECK OUT MORE AT [SINCERELYHANA.COM]

THE PROVOCATEURS

What could the world possibly owe four hyper-educated, Ivy-League white males in their late 30’s? A readership, perhaps. At least that’s the case with Marco Roth, Benjamin Kunkel, Keith Gessen and Mark Greif, the founders and editors of n+1, the literary journal that’s positioning itself at the forefront of contemporary critical thought. Modeled on journals like T.S. Eliot’s Criterion, The Partisan Review, and Dissent, n+1 attempts to channel the critical fortitude of patron saints like Edmund Wilson, Lionel Trilling and Alfred Kazin.

Noteworthy admirers like Jonathan Franzen and Mary Carr praise the magazine to such heights as to call it “the best goddamn literary magazine in America,” while detractors often allege intellectual-posturing, and mere sophistry. A 2006 article in The New Criterion once called n+1 the “must-have accessory of the self-styled smart set” and predicted a quick demise, but it’s been 5 years since and it’s long outlived that prediction and found a stability (both financially and in its convictions) that hints that n+1 is climbing in the first stages of a vast, upward trajectory.

Conversation with founder and co-editor, Mark Greif, is an intense experience; answering questions in whole, breathless paragraphs with erudition and care; treating both low and high-brow subjects with equal inquisitiveness. Greif wrote a lauded essay on Radiohead (“Radiohead and the Philosophy of Pop”) and during our conversation wondered aloud about the details of Canadian tax code — talking to him is, at least in inclination and wordcount, akin to reading the magazine itself.

To tell the story of the conception of n+1, Greif assesses the state of politics and literary criticism back in the year 2004. Politically, on the heels of Bush II and in the wake of Operation Iraqi Freedom, he had to look no further than the shallow dialogue of the public sphere. “You looked around at the time and there was this illusion, or at least people would say it out loud in the media, ‘We’re having a discussion about the coming war in Iraq’,” continuing, “you see people on TV and they’re saying, ‘We have orange here, and orange is disagreeing with red, but thank god we’ve got a lively debate going here with the whole spectrum of opinion and belief’ — incidentally it doesn’t really matter because the cruise missiles should be hitting right about now, and any sane person had to say to himself, this is a discussion? It was demented.”

For English scholars like the founders of n+1, where they once would hope to find intellectual solidarity — they were only met with further frustration. Greif and his friends saw problems coming from all angles, exemplified in certain publications. So in their first issue they drew out polemics against these magazines; The New Republic for being literary Luddites in their bitter and dismissive reviews, McSweeney’s and The Believer for being precious, sentimental, infantile and ultimately hocking a “regressive avant-garde,” and the conservative The Weekly Standard for outright lying. “We wrote up all these things that we thought should drive everybody crazy, and then we waited to see who would respond,” Greif says. This kind of provocation is natural in the journals insistence of the importance of argument and dialogue. In an interview with Brian Lehrer in 2006, Greif, in a defense of literary postmodernism said, “it’s very important to say we are great fans of postmodernism, of the youth culture, and of sexual liberation, and if anything, we should go too far — you know, we believe the sexual revolution should have been carried all the way and the family destroyed and civilization started on a new foundation.” It’s a semi-facetious comment, but it’s an example of how even digressive lines of thought are outsized in their affronts, and no doubt these guys possess the argumentative firepower to make it a convincing proposition. Greif explains a simple philosophy behind this gamesmanship, “literary culture, if it moves on, does so because people are arguing and learning from each other, and loving and hating what other people do, and you have to believe it comes to some higher synthesis.”

These agitations have seen results, soliciting responses from a range of public figures. James Wood, arguably the foremost literary critic in the world, came in defense of himself and The New Republic, issuing a letter n+1 printed in its pages. “That letter turned out to be a pretty great essay. Of course he was still wrong about everything, but, as I said, he’s for real, always was.” Just recently, as n+1 editors published a surfeit of essays on the sociology of the hipster in the New York Times and New York Magazine, Gavin McInnes tweeted his desire to punch the n+1 editors in the face. Ultimately it’s this sentiment, lobbed from the former Vice Magazine mensch nonetheless, that signals n+1’s ascendance into cultural primacy. That McInnes and his old institution’s ethics of provocation, steeped in frivolity, irony, thoughtlessness — the empty gestures of controversy and attention-seeking — are finally laid to rest in favor of n+1’s methods of academic rigor, creative enthusiasm, intellectual engagement, all in the unending pursuit of “The New”. As Greif puts it, “people always seemed to be finishing stuff up. This is dead, that is dead, this is done, etc. Not true. I’ve got an Emersonian streak — each time somebody’s born, they start the whole world from scratch. So the idea was just, in every art, and every endeavor, all we have to do is indicate that, you know, there’s another step. Nothing’s over.”

It’s probably worth it to note that James Wood made the pretty incisive observation that n+1 so far, has not itself established what exactly “The New” is, or should be. There’s plenty of time. With only 10 issues under their belt, the magazine can be considered just out of its infancy, although it still retains the attitude of the brash new kid. Just recently upping their production from two to three issues a year, and with a host of projects in the pipeline for their “n+1 Research Branch” small books series, n+1 is in great shape for the future. While other magazines atrophy in a narrowness of idea or aesthetic, n+1 takes on a more mercurial existence granted in the belief that the argument and the question are the most arduous forms of thought. And if they ever do lose their vivacity, their curiosity and passion? Greif answers, “We would need a younger magazine to kick our asses, right away.”

[nplusonemag.com]

Words: RJ Basinillo

TRASH NEXUS

Earlier this year Shepard Fairey and the Associated Press settled their two-year legal dispute over the status of the Barack Obama “Hope” campaign poster. Their decision: to split the merchandising profits and to collaborate on an AP/Obey product line.

This incident illustrates just how mundane and institutionalized street art has become. Street art’s passage into the mainstream has, save for a few novel and notable works, been incredibly disappointing and predictable.

Meanwhile, street art’s delinquent cousin, graffiti, suffers from the orthodoxy of tradition and the corrupting force of consumer culture. Pre-packaged graf kits are always a mouseclick away for any bored suburban yob with a credit card, all of which are looking for a b-line to become the world’s next Banksy rip-off.

It is in these dark days of disillusioned drudgery that we look to Lush, Melbourne’s premier perverted aerosol provocateur, for some answers.

Recently on the run from the local police force for his crimes against decency, he answered our questions concerning the state of public art via Flickr.

How’s Melbourne these days?
Full of toys, whiney, whingy cunts and myself.

Are you still in hiding? If so, what’s the gist – do you wear a disguise, avoid certain places, and so on?
I just got a new set of breasts, double D’s. I can put my drink in between them. I also wear a silver spice girls wig. I don’t go to the Polo Mansion as much or to the Nautica factory direct to get my gear as much or check out skip hop gigs.

Why do so many graffiti artists despise street art?


Because “street artists” are interested in making a dollar much more so then just getting out there and just getting up for the sheer fun of it. Street art just seems like some kind of formula to gain notoriety before you launch yourself into some kind of gallery career. A lot of “writers” are hip to this kind of shit and are now trying to cash in too, good on them I guess you gotta eat in the end.

And why is street art more appealing to most people?


Because the general public can understand the chase for a buck. Also street art is targeted towards the general public obviously. Who else needs to buy shitty stencil canvases of 101 Dalmatians to impress Jill and Jacob Honeypants next door? It’ll die out like any trend and graffiti taggering losers like myself will still be doing the same old shit we have been doing since the dawn of time, but because it’s the future we will have cybernetic graffiti enhancements for better can control.

Any chance we’ll see weaponized aerosol in the near future?
If someone can make money of it, they’ll make it.

How would you describe the current state of graffiti culture?


Its on the crux of becoming some kind of fucking skateboarding type shit, sponsors, endorsements, fucking ice cream flavors. Soon some of these guys will be selling their own fragrance, “Le’ Aerosoule alla lame”. I hardly see anything that impresses me anymore. I guess I’m like one of those grumpy old men that’s gotta shit on everything anyways. Graffiti is too safe and in some kind of box, only a handful of people are breaking out of it. But in the end its just a formula, you gotta try get over that shit and break out. 


So, if graffiti has become too safe, what’s the antidote?
Lose the “Graffiti Formula TM” and create some new ones or take that “Graffiti Formula TM” and just kick it the fuck up a notch. I’m gonna stop using cans anyways soon and only use chainsaws/sledgehammers/oxy torches to fuck shit up, cut out my letters in the gate with the oxy, take the chainsaw to fences, sledge hammer out my name in brick and concrete. Whilst naked. I think I just gave away a video I’m working on there. Oops.

Do you have any intentions with your work?

You go for a walk say, and you see all this boring fucking generic hippity hop graffiti and then there is a huge gushing cunt by me. What are you going to spend the most time looking at or just being confused about? If I wasn’t painting I’d be a serial killer. So It also helps curb the urge to mutilate prostitutes and put my dick in their viscera.



Do you think graffiti culture is a receptacle for unsavoury characters who would otherwise be directly terrorizing innocent civilians?
It’s a receptacle for pieces of turd mostly. I can hardly count on my hand the amount of semi normal people I’ve met. I think someone said it best before me, but I loved graffiti until I met other writers.

Should there be more sex on the streets?

I think there should just be more balls. People are too fucking safe. What are you afraid of? That you wont sell as many t-shirts because you offended someone or fucking graffiti grandmaster 88 will call you out for it? There is plenty of sex, it’s just butt sex.



What’s the future of graffiti?


More jail time, Cope2 funeral plans, and dental floss. More repetition of the same old shit over and over till someone divides by zero.


Do you plan to do more gallery/product work?


Only if I can take the piss. I’m trying to avoid painting Bearbricks or pairs of Vans for shitty product launch parties. I do want to make a mold of my cock so you and just about anyone else can just sit on it. BUY NOW! Lush’s Hard Cock only $9.99



A lot of writers hate on getting up on the Internet, any thoughts on this phenomenon?
They are craggy old people usually, or toys who look up to those senior graffiti citizens, or just people who secretly want to shine but don’t have the nads to go out and get it. They cut down those who are hungry enough to do whatever it takes to get that fucking graffiti perfume line.

What’s your next move?
Some shit that involves pornstars perhaps. I’ll keep it vague. I may or may not be in the U.K. , U.S. and Asia this year.

[flickr.com/photos/mercyfulfate]

Words: Douglas Haddow

FOCUS

André Pinces’ work reveals an elegant style spanning fashion, portraiture and contemporary art. His cinematic vision comes from a continually developing approach to photography and a keen sense of the human condition. Here are excerpts from two recent projects, a morning out on a Vancouver harbour tugboat, and a motorcycle trip with friends last autumn to Canada’s farthest western point on the coast of Vancouver Island.

CHECK OUT MORE AT [WWW.PINCESPHOTO.COM]

“WHITE FRIGHT”

Some satirists gently prod society with a pointed finger. Others are more severe, slapping their subjects across the face with the backhand of ridicule and then gouging their eyes with scornful fingers.

Anton Kannemeyer, aka “Joe Dog”, invites his target to gently rest their head within the vice of familiarity, squeezing its jaws shut until everything hidden away spills inside out.
The results are often terrible, funny, and viciously comic. Kannemeyer developed his style while co-editor of Bitterkomix; a South African cult comic magazine that was founded in 1992 and has insulted and dismantled South African politics ever since.

Kannemeyer built a reputation on his machete-sharp wit and aesthetic versatility. In 2010, he published a collection of work under the title Papa in Afrika in which he flawlessly imitated the style of Hergé and repositioned the beloved Tintin as a symbol of colonialist violence.

These days, Kannemeyer is collaborating with fellow Afrikaners Die Antwoord, and preparing for a solo gallery show at the Jack Shainman Gallery in New York City. He has a new book out, The Alphabet of Democracy – “an A to Z guide to the absurdities of life in the democratic South Africa.”

ION caught up with him recently from his laptop in Cape Town and talked about the state of pretty much everything.

What do you make of the recent spike in popularity of South African pop culture?
I’m not sure why South African pop culture has suddenly become quite a thing internationally. Firstly, I guess, it took a bit of time since the end of apartheid and cultural isolation to get standards on a par with what’s happening internationally. The one thing that Neil Blomkamp, Die Antwoord and myself have in common is Afrikaans, and the Afrikaners are an interesting bunch. On the one hand you have a large conservative group, on the other you have those (like us) who have rejected Afrikaner culture and traditions. I think the break with our culture is traumatic and severe, and therefore it’s normally an all-or-nothing kind of situation. To give you an anecdote (and I do this to explain, even though I don’t think you’ll understand it really, you’ll probably consider it an isolated incident, but it isn’t, there are many!):

I remember I had a drawing lecturer at university who was English – I really liked him; he was witty, articulate and very critical of Apartheid. I soon started to work on my Bitterkomix series and in 1994 we made a very explicit sex comic that looked at taboos and fears in Afrikaner culture. I remember he asked if he could buy a copy from me, then returned it the next day and NEVER spoke to me again. At that stage I was a part-time lecturer (doing my MA) and he just ignored me. What I realized was that I had overstepped a certain boundary with him, maybe something about decency or a moral standard that he couldn’t accept. This I found to be quite typical in South Africa: white English speakers generally came from a liberal background, which always kept them more or less in that position – there was a lot to reject and fight, but not as much as Afrikaners had to reject and fight.

I think once Afrikaners start rejecting, they’ll go all the way. There are quite a few examples, like Breyten Breytenbach, who was a poet, but eventually he tried to plant a bomb. Anyway, this does not explain why South African pop culture has become interesting…

I think I get what you’re saying, that this break with the culture allows Afrikaners to get an entirely new perspective. Which also speaks to your work – how it can engage on a purely visual level, but also belongs to a specific South African political context that most people aren’t familiar with. if there is one thing the average Canuck should know about South African politics, what is it?
Generally speaking, I think the South African political scene is quite a complex one. We have 11 official languages, and that should be an indication of the complexity of the political situation. Before the fall of Apartheid only white people had the right to vote. These white people were (and still are) divided into two linguistic/cultural groups: Afrikaans and English. It’s common knowledge that the Afrikaners had the political power since 1949 and the English had the economic power since, well, since the Anglo Boer war in 1899. Needless to say, the white English speakers benefited handsomely from Apartheid, even though most of them always claimed to be “liberal” and critical of Apartheid.

Since 1994 (the first democratic elections in SA) the ANC has been the dominant party, consisting mostly of Xhosa-speakers, like Nelson Mandela, and Zulu speakers, such as our current president Jacob Zuma. The various ethnic groups are of course spread across the country, but the Xhosas are originally from the Eastern Cape, and the Zulus from KwaZulu Natal. Cape Town, where I live, has a large group of coloured (mixed-race) people. To give you an idea of numbers, I would say that the white population consists of about 10% of all South Africans, the coloured population about 5% and more than 80% of all South Africans are black. There is also a substantial Indian population, and then various other minority groups.

One of the most arresting aspects of your work is how you approach horrendously complicated topics with a simple, satirical comic style. What do you like about working in the comic aesthetic?
I think that a comic style allows one to easily access stereotypes, which is important if you’re a satirist. The simpler the image becomes, the clearer it is for the viewer to read the image. The problem, however, is that the image may look simple, but the message is often complex. It so happens that a lot of people, especially visual illiterates, may think they understand the image because it’s drawn in an accessible comic style, but the meaning may be ambiguous or hidden. This often leads to misinterpretations and controversy. In Alphabet I have used the black stereotype, or “blackface,” less often than in Pappa in Afrika, so you’ll find more “realism” in the Alphabet series. But it still uses a lot of comic devices. Another reason would simply be that I come from a comic background – I used to draw comics primarily.

And in some instances you’ll have a “blackface” character and a more realistic character occupying the same frame, as in “This is how it works.” What is the significance of this contrast?
Personally I don’t think this is one of my stronger works. It’s probably interpreted as if I’m siding with the “round” character (the realistic guy) and I’m saying that the stereotype is the bad one ripping the “worker” off – and therefore he deserves to look like a stereotype. This was a bit obvious, and although I am personally outraged by the greediness of many politicians across Africa, I do not want to be a moral crusader on behalf of the poor. I believe this to be dishonest, and as a satirist it’s problematic to jump on a moral high horse – as if I’m not complicit at all (and here I’m not talking about racism, I’m talking about a deep-seated sense of guilt and of course the fact that I’m white – so I cannot appropriate the position of the black worker.) I think this is very important in my work, to show my complicity, to check and recheck my own fears and prejudices.

What sort of reactions have you received from the South African political establishment, if any?
I don’t think my work has had much impact on the political establishment. Unlike Zapiro, our most famous political and editorial cartoonist, my work is primarily seen in art galleries and not in newspapers. Therefore I’m probably preaching to the converted, although I do get a lot of flak from white liberals, and occasionally black liberals.

I think you would provoke a fair amount of Canadian liberals as well, as talk of race or racial politics is a rare occurrence in Canada, the prevailing self-image being one of multicultural harmony. if a Canadian were to produce a similar style of dark, challenging racial satire, the artist would probably be brought in front a human rights tribunal for disrupting the peace, which begs the question – is it necessary to create art capable of provoking discomfort?
I think this has to do with the way I approach my work. I feel strongly that my perspective should be as unique as possible, and maybe therefore I also don’t always address the most obvious situations or incidents. I’m programmed to make work that makes people uncomfortable; to a large extent that’s the aim. I want people to think about my work. I’ll never be satisfied with a mediocre response. I want them to be angry and hate it, or feel the opposite and love it. Personally, I feel the Alphabet series to be a bit more moderate, and at the moment it looks like it’s doing very well in South Africa, meaning, the reviews and sales are all very positive. Which is rather weird for me – I’m moving into the mainstream it seems… The racial harmony in Canada sounds a bit unreal… My experience is that racism is everywhere. But I have never been to Canada, so I can’t tell!

Following that up, there seem to be two primary reactions to your work – either that it’s a subversive critique of bigotry and political correctness, or, that it’s cynical and racist. Both readings boil down to where you, personally, sit on the spectrum of “progressive” politics. But it feels like these two readings are inseparable when it comes to the subject matter. My question being, is it necessary to indulge racism in order to examine it?
Firstly, I think the work should read as an investigation of race and a critique of racism. It’s satire. Also, I think in terms of a body of work, isolated parts could be misinterpreted as being racist. I can understand that, but it’s like taking one panel from a comic and criticizing it independently – which is wrong. I mean, you wouldn’t take a paragraph from a novel and then try to prove the writer is a racist on that basis – you would read the novel as a whole. Pappa in Afrika has many jarring juxtapositions, jumping from realist imagery to very iconic imagery – and that’s very deliberate. And it should be read as a whole. My political position should be irrelevant and the work should stand on its own, reading as a body of work that attacks white people and white interference in Africa firstly. If it doesn’t, I have failed as an artist. If it only depends on me saying afterwards “hey, I’m actually anti-racist,” it’s not enough.

The main problem with my approach is that I’m not following current PC-protocol, and that’s why white liberals are angry with me. Regarding the actual question: I have made a lot of work looking closely at race, and I found that reducing the image(s) to stereotypes deals most directly with the problems I’m addressing. The one thing I tried to do in Pappa was to create a white stereotype as well. It’s a black vs. white or white vs. black realm that I deal with and stereotypes are the most effective. It’s also common knowledge that stereotypes form part of the satirist’s armoury. I am aware, and this is of course very ironic, that I’m “indulging” racism as I’m examining it. I don’t think this is a necessity, but it certainly helped to clarify a particular body of work.

You mention how you deliberately jump between realist imagery and iconic imagery – this is interesting as I find some of your work to have a very journalistic feel to it. For example, the Cursed Paradise series, various pieces from Alphabet of Democracy in which you frame politicians next to statements they’ve made, and works like Boy Soldiers in which you quote journalists verbatim. Would you say that there is a documentary component to your more realistic work?
Certainly! I remember when I first saw Fernando Bryce’s work and I thought “Wow! It’s amazing that someone can do this!” I think the problem with recent African history is that there are not enough books out there. I was looking in Strand in New York for historical books on 20th century Africa and there was maybe a single, half-empty shelf reserved for all of African history. There were shelves and shelves of books on the Holocaust in the same sectionn They even piled them up in the corridors to accommodate them all.

A visual history of 20th century Africa is even less available. You have several on tourism in Africa, beautiful books on animals and so forth, but nothing with a visual history. “Why is this?” I thought. Is no one interested? Are white people too ashamed of the legacy of slavery and the plundering of Africa? So in a sense I thought that the documentary aspect is crucial, although it’s very fragmented and selective.

So is Alphabet of Democracy intended to serve as something of a historical text?
I started the Alphabet series when I read several pieces on Bitterkomix in the media commenting on the fact that Bitterkomix gives a good account of the transition between Apartheid South Africa and the new South Africa. I thought that I’d make an extended work dealing with this change of power. The selection of images and ideas are all very random from my scrapbooks, focusing mainly on things that I find interesting. So in a sense it’s a bit of a personal account, and if it becomes of any historical significance I’ll be delighted.

Words: Douglas Haddow