Spells of Scandal and Splendor

"Crystal Ball" by Many ray, 1922

Halloween is by far my most favorite time of year. I simply adore costumes and the seasonal tipping point in weather that once again allows serious fur into the wardrobe.  The leaves still clinging to the trees are at their most dramatic, acidic hues, in the final encore of their swan song, as fog creeps around, veiling things in no particular order to try and confuse the passerby. The air even smells different. Scents of moss, nuts, smoke and perfume are so much sharper and seemingly truer as they hover, slightly chilled in the breeze. It is in short, dramatic.  So much more mysterious than the obvious hedonism and sweat of summer, or fluffy, faux merriment of deep winter.

Staple Fire

"Air Force Two" - Baptiste Debombourg
Presentation: On Wall, Elements: 35,000 staples,  2.7 m x 2.5 m
Realisation time: 75 hours
Date: 25/11/2007 - 7/01/2008 - 13/07/2009

Generally I am a pacifist. Despite a notably bohemian upbringing, there is no use denying the solid foundations of diplomacy underpinning it. As much as my mother's artistic waywardness inspires, there is a distinct air of rebellion about it. Especially when one considers she spent most of her life under the spotlight that accompanies belonging to an ambassadorial family. That is to say, rooted in the golden age of real diplomacy which ended in the 70s, not the whatever diplomacy that exists today. Though there are a few exceptions today, generally no one has any manners, complemented by a dubious education. Diplomatic number plates seem to be handed out like perfume samples. Today's ambassadors make one wonder just how many villages worldwide must be listing a missing person on findyourvillageidiot.com.

Needles to Say

"Billy Jean"  by Frederique Morrel

Since I can remember, I wanted to be the princess or queen of something. I had the life-size Rapunzel tower, the crowns and tiaras with all the Swarovskis a child could choke on, big flowing romantic dresses oozing with silks, tulle and lace, at least doubles of every toy (I liked bestowing copies to friends) and my seat next to Prince Harry at 'Fun with Music' every week (something involving listening to Classical music whilst drawing). It was the 80s anyway and looking back I realise that I had a rather tasteful 80s experience with only a few slip-ups. 

Art Happens (WARNING CONTAINS LANGUAGE WHICH MAY BE OFFENSIVE) (IF YOU FIND THAT OFFENSIVE READ SOMEONE ELSE'S ARTICLE)

Piero Manzoni - Artist's S*** (1961)

Having the Midas touch is often thrown around as a way to describe someone successfully turning something around, though its macabre undertones are often overlooked. Like the minor detail that King Midas could not even touch his morning brioche without it becoming an indigestible ingot. Lifelong celibacy is another inconvenience that springs to mind. Science and alchemy has spent literally centuries trying to compose chemical ways of turning everything from mud to duck eggs into gold. Sadly for them, the impossible shortcut to this hallowed matter successfully continues to elude. However, the artists obviously found their own solution to this conundrum.

Neverland Evermore

Jeff Koons - Michael Jackson and Bubbles, 1988

The mysterious collective commonly known as “They”, say that one should nurture the child within. I do this often. Especially at FAO Schwartz in New York, where I can happily rummage for hours. My Barbie bubble only bursts momentarily when I realize that the Dorothy ruby costume slippers do not come in my size. At this stage I generally head back to Bergdorf’s to see what Monsieur Louboutin has to offer. Even there, just like most women amongst the froth of sexy shoes, I am still a little girl in a sweet shop. Men may claim to be from Mars, but having recently witnessed my boyfriend, Panda’s recent elation over remote control helicopters in Harrods toy department, I can confirm Mars and Venus are walking distance apart.

Losing Their Marbles

Head of Horse of Selene from the east pediment of the Parthenon, Acropolis, Athens, 447-432 BC. (Photo: Courtesy of The British Museum, London)

I love Greece. I love Greeks. I can safely state that these affections started long before I met my boyfriend Panda, who is also Greek. Though he has certainly helped further increase my admiration of this Hellenic land immeasurably. Serene sailing around the islands and a generous dash (read months) of mayhem in Mykonos help. Yet this cradle of civilisation, gifted with beauty and ancient wisdom is taking a rather uncivilised knocking at the moment. It makes one wonder where did it all go wrong?

Mein Kunst

Adolf Hitler - Pinocchio, aquarelle on paper (1940)

In keeping with British public schooling traditions, my nickname in junior school was "Knickers". I had other names of course, but that was the most notable one. How this came about had nothing to do with my actual undergarments, and more to do with a comeback from a fellow pupil based on certain phonetics drawn from my actual name. I have regaled this tale many a time for others amusement as 1.) It's funny and 2.) Life is too short to take yourself too seriously all the time. Being overly serious will only get you ridiculed and equally, being uptight will probably cause you inflexibility, ulcers and other gastric issues.

Who's Bad?

José Luis Rodriguez - "Storybook Wolf"

If one day, you should meet me walking in the woods, you would quickly discover that I ask a lot of questions. Its just my nature and it often carries me on strange voyages of discovery. I began just like most little girls growing up, being seduced by storybook fantasies. Except that I wanted to be a queen not a princess, find a prince who was not a toad, and why would anyone kiss a slimy amphibian no matter how much it implored?

Mistaken Histories

Large-scale Installation from "Tracticus Post Historicus" series, Ca' Pesaro, Venice, 2009
by Braco Dimitrijevic

I was always one of those strange children in school who adored history lessons. Whilst my peers tried to stay awake, passing around pop cassettes and competing with shorter mini-skirts (out of school only as we had strict school uniforms), I fantasised about wearing crinolines, corsets and writing by courier pigeon. Ok, so I was rather geeky, of which I am most proud. It is a commonly accepted fable that pretty people are not geeky, I could use myself or any of my friends as an example, but alas this will not mean much to you dear reader as you have not seen us. Instead, one example, Natalie Portman. Beautiful geek, so there. 

Nailed

3D Nail Art

As a young, rebellious girl I was often upset at always having to cut my nails short in order to play the piano. My darling russian concert-pianist teacher was, contrary to stereotype, a wonderfully warm and supporting, gentle soul. However, she did have a point when highlighting that neither Chopin nor Mozart had intended their compositions to be accompanied by my talons click-clacking on ivory keys. Least of all at a public concert in central London venues where you can hear a pin drop.

Painting the town yellow

Yellow Cow by Franz Marc 1911

Expanding my bases around the world has also meant establishing more formal studio spaces in which to work (though I use this term in the loosest sense imaginable). Recently requiring several outings to peruse the familiarly tapering aisles almost mandatory for any self-respecting art shop.

All for pills, and pills for all!

Damien Hirst - Charm Bracelet (Gold) from the Pills Project

Growing up in a big city like London generally means that picking up fresh produce, no matter how much you pay, is never going to be the same as picking it straight off the tree or whatever it grows on. To substitute this freshness gap I have always taken some cocktail of vitamin supplements. Though by no means as extreme as Americans when it comes to this, I always felt it essential to boost my diet with what it might be lacking. I took this for granted until one night I stood staring at my sprawling vitamin collection, that has its own section in my kitchen resembling a small organic pharmacy.