Oh Boy

Oh boy,
The last weeks of summer.
Days are getting shorter,
But we still enjoy ourselves.

Photography by Jack Pierson. 

Piercing Through

Who wouldn't want to spend their birthday like Robert Mapplethorpe did in 1971?

"Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé took Robert to dinner and then to the Rive Gauche boutique and let him pick out anything in the store. He chose a simple black shirt. He said it was the cheapest thing in the store, but that's what he wanted… 
Later that night Loulou de la Falaise took him to a strip show, and they drank champagne and talked until 5:00am."  

Untitled (Self-portrait with Loulou de la Falaise), 1971

I had no idea Mapplethorpe used to be in with the European fashion crowd. The link between him and them was his boyfriend David Croland: The socialite-model and friend of Andy W introduced the artist to the who-is-who of Paris, bringing in many a lucrative commission for French and Italian Vogue.

David Croland by Robert, Polaroid, 1971

Now Croland is playing connector again: Thanks to him, the Allison Jacques Gallery  in London is putting on the exhibition "Robert Mapplethorpe: Fashion Show". On paper the photos have all the right ingredients: a pudgy Karl Lagerfeld, a body-painted Grace Jones, some bare breats for Italian Vogue. And yet these commercial works don't quite convince (click here to see all images).

Stripped of New York-rawness, what remains in most of these is the stiff code of 1980's posing. One cannot blame Mapplethorpe for wanting to make money, but the works only reveal what we knew before: that conventional glamour was never his cup of tea. The precursor of grunge was a perpetual pusher of borders, not a fashionista.
And the proof hung proudest from his pierced nipple. Nowadays, that would be Saint Laurent style.

"Robert Having His Nipple Pierced" - Documentary excerpt - here in English

"Robert Mapplethorpe: Fashion Show", at the Alison Jacques Gallery 11 September - 5 October 2013

London vs Warsaw

I'm moving to Warsaw this month, and I'm taking a certain Mexican with me. Even though the Daily Mail says our quality of life is about to rocket, I'm a little apprehensive. How do my London hang out places compare to their Varsovian equivalents?

1. Battle of the Books

In London I cycle past the chaos of King's X to get to the British Library. Somewhat mute on the outside, spacious and ueber-well stocked on the inside. Drawbacks: drink-ban and relentless bag-checks.

In Poland, my lib of choice will be the Warsaw University Library, right by the banks of the Vistula. It sports a massive roof garden overlooking the city, reading rooms with lots of natural light, and lax regulations. Check. 

2. Scraping Icons

It's undeniably impressive and its changing colours are beautiful, but somehow I never quite warmed to the Shard. Do I sense something brutal and aloof about it? Maybe it's the speed with which it appeared and now dominates the skyline, or its exclusive big-money purpose. Will Self agrees.

The Palace of Culture and Science was a gift from Stalin to the city, and for most old-school Varsovians  it still symbolises Communist oppression. But to the young the Pałac is central to cultural life, containing several theatres, cinemas and bars (and a $2 viewing platform). And the architecture is smugly between Manhattan and Communist nostalgias.

3. Hipsters

Moaning about gentrification is circular and clichéd, but London does take the mick - the capital of cool is being made by the Capitalists of cool. Take Dalston. African and affordable five years ago, it's now filled with bankers and American Apparel clones. 

In Warsaw the key word is reclaiming. There is space, and it's cheap. The city has been going through a Renaissance of trendiness but so far it's inclusive. My favourite places are the Powiśle bar in an abandoned railway ticket station, the super-cool cafe/market Koszyki in a regenerated hall, and the inter-generational parties of the Nizio foundation.

Looks like I'll be fine. Plus there's a pull-out couch in our place. Just saying. 

Ballsy

I first saw Cary Kwok's work in BUTT Magazine, and it gave me one of those "thank-god-someone-did-this" sensations (see the series "Cum to Barber").
Now Cary is part of the ICA's group exhibition "Keep your Timber Limber", where his sharp ballpoint pen drawings make jaws drop and steal the show hands down, including from Tom of Finland and Georg Grosz.

You see why. 

Muscle Toss, 2010

Cum to Father, 2010

Buddjism, 2010

To see more of Cary's spunk, check out his website, or visit the ICA until 8 September. 

A Quick Threesome

Things that tickled me this week. 

1. Bon Appétit

Plates by Berlin-based Tulip collective. The tricksters take old granny crockery (see how the flowers were there before?) and add nudes and naughty wisdoms.

They make me think of the scene in the Birdcage where a dinner guests find "young men playing leap frog" on the china. Picnic with Auntie? Dinner with the in-laws? I want.      

2. The Power of Queer

Speaking of vintage: the sacred band of thebes was an elite fighting troop in the 4th century B.C. consisting of 150 pairs of male lovers. The idea, attributed to Plato, is simple: when with boyf, you'll be courageous.

"And when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world. For what lover would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger?

You wish

Band Of Thebes also happens to be the name of one of the finest blogs on the world wide web. Every day, publishing executive Stephen Bottum writes about famous queers throughout the ages, with an emphasis on writers and creatives. Rewrite your history books.


3. Twenty Years Ago

Are you old enough to remember this? In 1993, Benetton put a massive condom over the Egyptian Obelisk at the Place de la Concorde in Paris. AIDS was the topic of the day back then. Need for a refresher?

Marketing or not, kudos to Benetton for raising awareness. And they haven't stopped since. Did you see the gay kiss campaign that was banned by the Vatican? 

The Mausoleum of Lovers

This week my friend, illustrator Iris Hatzfeld, introduced me to the multi-talent that was Hervé Guibert. Raised in a Parisian bourgeois family, Guibert made a name for himself as a photographer, novelist, and critic.

Jeanne d'Arc, 1983

Major influences were proto-Beatnik Jean Genet and close friend Michel Foucault. This is visible in much of Guibert's work, which is permeated by shadows (in all the senses of the term) and fragility. His is creation fuelled by an obsession with love and that curiously gay penchant for abjection.

"The secret of the other shall be my secret. And this face which stares at me can very well decompose: it is already dead."

Guibert died of AIDS in 1991, shortly after writing "To The Friend Who Did Not Save My Life" which changed France's opinion of the epidemic. Read an extract from his posthumously published journals The Mausoleum of Lovers here. It's like his photos: notions of happiness, obscured. 

Thanks for that, Iris. 

RAF

Men's fashion week in Paris, and Raf Simons does the unthinkable: making the biggest names in fashion take a bus to a banlieue. Suzy Menkes, Alaïa, Jeremy Scott (to name but a few) were packed into a tiny van that bore Raf's name, and driven to the drab outskirt of Le Bourget to the latest Gagosian gallery - a massive masterwork by Jean Prouvé. Inside, beautiful manorexic models strutted their stuff amongst Calder mobiles.

Worth the trip? Love it? 

See the full collection here.