I headed to Venice last month for an exhibition at a pop-up gallery near the beach for a couple of photographers I dig. I’d only ever seen their work online, in mags and on album covers. I was superexcited to be able to stand in front of prints and just see. So, yeah. Nobody was there. Doors locked. I asked around and no one knew anything.
Instead of running home in a huff, I walked a few blocks down to Abbot Kinney to meet up with my friend, Vincent, at Mona Moore. He’d told me to stop by bunch. I’m so glad I finally did. I fell in love with a pair of shoes. Not in a covetous, I’m-saving-my-pennies kind of way, but in a true appreciation for artistry, simplicity and beauty. Oh, and they are lo-fi, eXtra* and badass.
I’m not sure if I would have pulled out my camera if the Mochilla show wasn’t locked up tight. I think my head would have been there instead of being inspired by what was around me. From my handmade soulmates to all the Balenciaga and Marni to Allie Pohl‘s Ideal Woman, I quite like Mona Moore.
the things i’ve been looking the hardest for have been right under my nose at home.
I can’t believe that my new favorite conditioner has been in my house unused for ages. Seriously. It was a part of a gift set I was sent when I got nostalgic for my NYC skin care routine. And it just sat there, on the shelf, in the medicine cabinet.
I stopped relaxing my hair six years ago and if I wasn’t into the whole “doing my hair” thing before, I like it less now. I don’t hate my hair. I love it. Lots. I feel my family in its textures and I see my mother in the most random of styles. It’s just that the one thing I’ve hated since I could remember someone combing my hair was someone/anyone combing my hair. Tenderheaded and full of tangles since birth, probably.
The whole washing and combing it out thing is the most stressful part of a four hour pain in the ass. No More Tangles definitely took some of the bite out of the process, but still. The thought of so much time from shower to last last wisp flat-ironed always had me putting it off for another day, okay, weekend.
I am so digging what the Badescu has done. There was no tug-of-war fought, no wasteland of battle weary strands woven among the comb’s teeth destined for their place in the bathroom trash, my sanity tossed in right after. Nope. My hair is cotton candy soft with just a smidge of coconut oil to nourish and maintain the shine. Man, I can’t keep my hands out of my it.
I’m freakishly excited by this belated discovery. So excited and giddy and happy, in fact, that I’m afraid to continue reading the list of ingredients for fear that it’s got something in it I shouldn’t be using. Lanolin oil, does that mess with estrogen or cause cancer? Wait, don’t tell me. Let me empty that sample-sized bottle first.
I don’t even have a record player, but I want this Sonny Clark record. On VINYL. Must have it.
It all started because I was trying to suss out a particular visual reference for something I’m working on and ended up tooling around the Birka Jazz Archive looking at old album covers. I checked out some old Columbia stuff first, but I knew what I was looking for was probably either from Verve or Blue Note.
I still don’t know if Blue Note was what I wanted, because I got all caught up in the work of graphic designer, Reid Miles. Oh, my word. Talk about a day well spent. He created these amazing album covers that frequently stopped the scroll. It’s like my finger said “Girl, you might want to wait.” His use of color and type elicited audible reactions that I hope nobody else actually heard.
I’m getting all giggly & screechy over records from the mid 1950s to late 60s. I haven’t been this excited about a record cover since I was little and I hid in the closet with that Nikki Giovanni just to stare my name in print. Seriously, I don’t even need to listen to the albums with the covers that send me. I kinda just want to hold them and look. I’m already intrigued and inspired.
A googly-bingish search for more on Reid Miles sent me to Hard Format where I studied the well curated display of some of his most beautiful work. A link at the bottom sent me off again. Now, I’m listening to previews of old jazz records on itunes and staring at the cover of every Blue Note record released. Crazy.
From this tangent: I get another GENRE of freaking music to absorb and another interesting website for me to explore… great!
I’m in the middle of my Declan Quinn “I Shot That” film festival.
Connecting the Dots: I was watching the trailer for a some (♥:now forgotten) doc and felt something was missing. Like visually something was off. That’s when I realized that I’ve been influenced by what cinematographer, Declan Quinn, did on “Jimmy Carter Man From Plains.” The way he crafted images and used light with amazing access and limited resources really struck me. There’s an intimacy and energy that’s hard to capture in the moment and on the run. I wanted to know more about how he made it seem so easy and why I was drawn to it. Then, I looked at his body of work and went all “Duh!”
There were all these personal visual reference points. Every time I used to walk into Joe’s Pub in New York, there was a warmth that felt like an old Figgis movie or the way vibrant color was captured in Mira Nair films or the doc realism of “Rachel Getting Married.”
I thought it would be cool to see what’s changed and developed over time. So, I’m watching all the films he’s DPd since “Leaving Las Vegas.”
1995 | Leaving Las Vegas | dir. Mike Figgis
1996 | Carried Away | dir. Bruno Barreto
1996 | Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love | dir. Mira Nair
1997 | One Night Stand | dir. Mike Figgis
1998 | 2by4| dir. Jimmy Smallhorne
1998 | This Is My Father | dir. Paul Quinn
1998 | One True Thing | dir. Carl Franklin
1999 | Flawless | dir. Joel Schumacher
2000 | 28 Days | dir. Betty Thomas
2001 | Monsoon Wedding | dir. Mira Nair
2002 | Hysterical Blindness | dir. Mira Nair
2002 | September 11| dir. Mira Nair | segment “India”
2003 | In America | dir. Jim Sheridan
2003 | Cold Creek Manor | dir. Mike Figgis
2004 | Vanity Fair | dir. Mira Nair
2005 | Breakfast on Pluto | dir. Neil Jordan
2005 | Get Rich or Die Tryin’ | dir. Jim Sheridan
2007 | Jimmy Carter Man from Plains | dir. Jonathan Demme
2008 | The Lucky Ones | dir. Neil Burger
2008 | Rachel Getting Married | dir. Jonathan Demme
2008 | Pride and Glory | dir. Gavin O’Connor
2008 | 8 | dir. Mira Nair | segment “How can it be?”
2009 | New York, I Love You | seg. dir. Mira Nair
2009 | The Private Lives of Pippa Lee | dir. Rebecca Miller
2009 | Neil Young Trunk Show | dir. Jonathan Demme
As this unfolds, it’s already interesting to see how images from years ago still influence what I want to see. I’m a bit of a commentary dork, too, and it’s great to hear Mira Nair frequently talk about how she and Quinn work together or listen to Jim Sheridan bring up the lighting conversations he had on “In America.”
I can’t believe I started this in September. Titles in bold are the films I’ve seen for the first time or seen again. My word, I’m only 9 movies in.
I’ve been working on an another UnderTheInfluence piece for a while that has a bit about the first time I saw Miguel earlier this year. I’m still kinda fascinated by my intense reaction. Since then, I’ve tried to catch him whenever thehermit hasn’t taken over and kept me home, safe and cozy in front of some machine with light emanating from its screen.
As luck/chance/Grand Performances would have it, he’s playing a holiday concert with his string quartet up the hill from me today at noon. Um, yeah. Love that.
So. Miguel Atwood-Ferguson. Composer. Arranger. Multi-instrumentalist. To me, he’s like this conduit that allows you to feel music, while bypassing, even transcending, the limiting and self-segregating nature of genre. He embodies the interconnectedness of all sound. And inhabits what are still “different” spaces with such contagious passion, that even the possibility of discovering something new leaves you open to wherever his muse takes him. It’s kinda wild to be so excited to venture somewhere with only his hand to guide. So, yeah. I’m going to see a dude play his viola with his string quartet at lunch.
If you’re around, come by California Plaza | Downtown LA at noon. Otherwise, keep pressing play.
I realized as the bus passed and her face on its side caught my eye that I have some questionable cinematic loyalties. My disdain for Twilight’s immense popularity got put in check when it became clear that my heart raced a little faster as the letters on the poster ticked the OMG box. A new Resident Evil. Milla! Milla! Milla!
Years ago, I was clicking aimlessly looking for something to still my hand and mind, when I came upon some cable channel that figured out a new way to steal a couple of hours of my time, repeatedly.
(Sci-Fi+Action-y+GunsandZombies) x MILLA + 1/8 CausticMichelleRodriguez vs. TheMan/TheSystem/TheCompany = Fun Times!
So, I watched. Kinda liked. And watched, again. Kinda loved.
Are we talking 5stars on Netflix? Come on, now. No. I don’t expect a “cinematic tour de force” from Resident Evil; I expect a good time. Have they even all been that? Well, actually, no. But it’s the possibility that it could be as good a whole as all the kick-ass elements that sucks me in. I guess in some ways I just want the first five minutes of the Matrix repeated in different ways with different people for 90 minutes.
I dig the Resident Evil series. I just do. I want to see some girl kicking zombie tail and going after “The Man” for causing the destruction of, you know, errything. Unless there is something so disturbing that it makes me uncomfortable and it unwatchable, besides Ashanti*, I’m in.
This thing I have for Resident Evil, is it Twilight tent and sleeping bag love? Enough to spend days in line for tickets or something? Ummm, I don’t do that. Or let’s be clearer, the last time I slept out for tickets Prince hadn’t changed his name yet and he could get me to do anything.
It’s funny how I start to overthink the fact that I just like something. It’s as if scary fun can’t be enough and I’ve got to slag the object of my affection a bit in the process. How can I have “No Shame,” yet still be trying to save face?
Let me watch the trailer and get hyped again. brb.
That worked.
Yay! Resident Evil: Afterlife is playing at The Arclight. We haven’t talked about how really special I am about where I’ll venture off into the darkness, have we? Maybe later.
Tonight, I’m going to finish watching Architectures 5 and maybe, Un Prophète with the director’s commentary while sipping on yuppie Night Train aka Two Buck Chuck. But, for real, can it be Friday? Now.
Since I’m feeling all open, I’ll admit to my other head-scratcher and publicly pout about the ones that did me wrong.
Another Questionable Allegiance & A Couple of Painful Betrayals Underworld: Yes. Period. Umm, Hi Kate. Can you tell Bill I said, “Hey?”
Alien/Aliens: Nothing exists in my world post-Fincher. And that one hurt. Alien vs. huh? Seriously, why? And please don’t even think about a prequel. Please.
Hellraiser: After Pinhead In Space aka Hellraiser IV:Bloodline, I got off that ride. So did the everyone else. Hello, Direct-to-Video.
Mission: Impossible to get me back into a theater. Wait… Did you say Simon Pegg?
I longed aloud today for a simple carafe. Someone heard me.
Did you read the newsletter? Did you see the announcement? Have you been to the website? What? No? Heath Ceramics has gone Uber-Weck. I think I♥Heath Ceramics, even more hardcore.
The range Heath now carries online is, umm, just stoopid. Seriously, they’ve got Weck sets. Love. Wait, did I say that again? Love. Fine. Umm, silly happy. How about that? Better?
See for yourself.
…Hold on. I just looked at the prices. Why does it feel like it’s cheaper than when I got my first taste of Weck goodness last year? It just might be. I won’t argue.
Nikki♥
*you know, she sung “Where The Boys Are,” the theme song to the 1960 Spring Break comedy. No? I guess that’s what I get for faking sick/ditching school and watching lots of old movies on the telly.
Just a wee bit of housekeeping for a late Sunday night.
I came across another spot to pick up Weck jars. I’ve updated the Weck Resource Guide post with the Canoe link. They carry the asparagus/tall jar!!!
I’ve also updated the Nigella Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake post from earlier this year. I realized that I, umm, hadn’t included the recipe. I, also, made the cake for an office shower/pot-luck thingy. Added ginger and changed the world. Okay. Changed my world. Heaven on, well, you know. It was good.
I know. I’ve been gone, again. Popping in to quickly CanJam, then poof. Only the randomness of my tweetstorm as evidence that I’m around, but only in 140 mode.
I have been writing. Writing lots of different things. Just not finishing. I haven’t been able to put my head around the sentences and paragraphs that confound me.
I’ve been getting stuck on purpose. Why am I writing what I’m writing? Is outcome more important than getting it out? I’m trying not to worry about what comes after. Ehhh, I’m not there yet.
I’ve been big on the 4 Agreements this year. I write them down everyday. I’m working on keeping my word. Being impeccable with it. I just can’t seem to do it with myself. I’m the easiest and the first person to let down in a pinch, or hell, on the regular.
But this, R&C, is the place I can do whatever my heart and head desires. They both need more attention paid.
So, I’m back. If only to remind myself that I get joy from so many things and that Mommy taught me to share.
Nikki♥
I’m going to burn some incense now… Here’s Todd Rundgren & The Isley Brothers doing “Hello, It’s Me”
