Vintage Reject: June 2013

23.6.13

Psyco Nacirema (American Backwards :o)

Last week me and a friend after school decided to visit the Pace Gallery to go see the new exhibition created by heartthrob James Franco. I had seen photos of some of the pieces of work in the exhibition but stupidly did not look on the website where there are more accurate photographs of the exhibition in its entirety. In a way I'm glad we went because it is work made by JAMES FRANCO and it was interesting as a haunted house/ entrapment piece if you will; but perhaps we were not deep enough to understand the deep conceptual idea of red paint being splattered on dildos and rubber ducks...

MIU MIU S/S 2013 ADVERTISING CAMPAIGN

20.6.13

Pussy Riot, A Punk Prayer

Volvo Art Session 2013 Opening Show

Yoko Ono and the Plastic Ono Band- Southbank Centre

(IWASTHERE)

Last Friday I went to see Yoko Ono and the Plastic Ono Band. Yoko opened Meltdown 2013 (which she’s curating) with a blistering, thrilling, cutting-edge music-as-art set, which not so much pushed boundaries as ignored them. It's fair enough to say that everyone there was completely enthralled by the whole atmosphere starting before she even came on with moving bottoms on screen. Ono pulled some cool shapes when the mood took her and informed us, perhaps improbably, that “I feel I know you”. Her son was also there in the band and did an Eric Clapton guitar solo with his ultra cool girlfriend Charlotte Kemp Muhl Playing the bass, Japanese musician and producer Cornelius also was playing. Amoung some of the songs she played there was Walking On Thin Ice, a swish reggaefied backbeat; she duetted with Peaches on Yes I’m A Witch and unleashed the hounds on Don’t Worry Kyoko (Mummy’s Only Looking For Her Hand In The Snow). It was truly an amazing experience.

Don Jon

The Wolf of Wall Street

Much Ado About Nothing

...

He had been to the moon and escaped, he had become free. His spirit had become stardust and joined the universe in a chorus of cherubs. He had seen distant marble planets. He had beaten the ‘dirty commi’s’ and he was a hero. He had seen a shooting rock covered in other escaped souls. He looked at Earth; it was the colour of the sea, the day he lay on the sand. It was the colour of the costumes of the dancing women in the café he had been scouted in. He rolled on the sandy surface of the Moon. He closed his eyes, cerulean blue filled the space where his entrapped being had once cried.