December Diary ~ part II

Xmas drinks: Sir Richard Steale

Our annual pre-Xmas drinks included new faces this year: Claire’s new boyfriend, Macca, a chatty and cheerful Scottish guy; Daniel, an interesting children actor from Germany but living in Austria; Zuza, my lovely friend from Bratislava; and Dan, a sweet friend of mine from Milan who I randomly met in London. For the first time, this year, the trio Richard-Chrys-Ian honoured us of their presence too.

We opted for a classic venue in Belsize Park, a pub named after the Irish writer Sir Richard Steele. It is a proper decadent chic venue decorated with loads of quirky bric a brac, old fashion portraits, antique photos and other rather kitsch objects: from deer’s heads to mummified birds, and dusty books, of course. But the people are the real attraction of this bizarre place. Proper eccentrics of all ages and social background: from celebrities to the local weirdos, this pub is always a surprising meeting experience. That night we got pleasantly surprised by a trio of old musicians who entertained us with some Beatles songs played with harmonica, violin and guitar.

Company Xmas party at The Room by the River

Before the party I invited a few people to get ready at my place and have a pre-party drink. We arrived fashionably late due to my indecision about the dress to show off—the long purple dress or the navy short dress? :o )

The party was hosted near the river in a huge marquee. It was called The Room by the River, although no view over the river was visible from there. It was a black tie event, and everybody made an effort to look very elegant. Black was the dominant colour. I personally chose the puffy navy blue chiffon dress which I accessorised it with shocking pink short leather gloves, red thick tights, a wood beaded necklace (purple and lilac with a bright red rose) I made, and high-knee black boots for a global ’60s effect. My hair was gathered in a simple pony tail. The party was undoubtedly

well organised: it started with an aperitif on a rather dull reception room and followed with a buffet dinner, offering chicken in an Italian tomato and olive sauce, meat balls of lamb (always covered in tomato) and an oven baked vegetarian dish made of vegetables and mozzarella. The side dishes were potato and veggy based. The dessert was a simple cup of chantilly mixed with fresh fruit. The décor of the main room featured, predominantly, big rounded tables and sparkling pink lights for a television studio effect. This year the venue was even bigger than the previous years, and socialise was therefore harder. I spent the first half of the night trying to recognise the presents and hardly managed to speak with most of the guests.

A quite large dance floor was set at the end of the main room, but I did not go nearer to it, repulsed by the horrible commercial music they were playing.

The hall, on the other side, was the best place to socialise and converse. It had a bar and a chocolate fountain! The theme of the party was in fact *chocolate*, and, although this fountain offered tasty milky choco and the best profiteroles, it was quite small and the only reminder of the party’s theme.

As a Cinderella, I left at midnight to catch my direct tube home. And, as a good girl, I was at home half an hour later bright and safe and sober.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The week went on with more social engagements: on Wed I met Elisa, an interesting Italian girl I met on the plane one year ago. Funnily enough we are flying back on 8th January togther again, and it was unplanned! I spent some time on my own on Thursday night while Steve was away for his Christmas party at work. And on Friday another department Xmas party at Zebrano. Nice venue in Carnaby Street, nice food and nice to chat with the colleagues in a different environment. Second photo from the top © MonoMax Ltd

December Diary ~ Part 1

Somerset House A fun afternoon spent with Steve, Amanda, Richard, Chrys, Alberta, the doctor, Minh Ha and Jason, pretending to ice-skate in a romantic but crowded location: Somerset House. Modesty aside, I feel quite self-confident on the skates, since I have been skiing since I was five and always adored roller skating. But I have long to go before showing off some *non-standard* performances like pirouettes or jumps. I also tried to go backwards though, which was quite simple but a bit hazardous in such a busy ice ring. I was impressed by Steve’s improvements since last time (one year ago), by Chrys’ improvements in the arch of 1 hour: it was his *first time* and very frightened at first, so scared he didn’t leave the barrister for the first 20 minutes. Alberta and I helped him balance for a while and then left him alone. I observed him towards the end and was amazed to see that he managed to complete a round without touching the edges! I was also pleased by the others performance: everybody looked comfortable and agile. The evening followed with some drinks at a pub nearby, a greedy dinner at Zizzi and some indy/sixty dance at Metro Club.

Spanish Reunion Our Spanish teacher invited us to spend a Sunday afternoon at her place eating, drinking and watching a good film: Luna de Avellaneda starring my much-loved Ricardo Darin. The film chronicled the story, and history, of el club de el barrio de Avellaneda (i.e. the working men’s club of Avellaneda, a Buenos Aires quarter), and offered many hilarious and cheerful moments as the background of a nostalgic story.

The club has always played a central role in the lives and identities of Argentinian people. The local club is not (supposed to be) a political or religious circle, but simply a community where you go to meet people, converse, play and practice sport. It is also a way of keeping the youngest away from the streets and from the frustrations the country’s unemployment rate provokes. It is a proud (orguello) to be a member of it and a commitment to keep it going, since its joining fee is a mere £5 or so per month. Well, this film deals exactly with the significance the *club* has acted, and acts, and with the difficulty of keeping it alive nowdays, when times have changed (in many senses) and so the role of the club.

Ricardo Darin’s performance was sweet—to use a subjective judgment, and convincing—in more objective terms. Roman (aka R. Darin) was literally born in the club. His emotional temperament, mingled to a certain extent of passivity led him to a series of subtle failures in life. However, although remissive and tired-looking (as opposed to the more energetic paternal figure in Kamtchaka), he was never boring or annoying. On the contrary, he came across as the ultimate idealist man who has always retained his dignity... and charm.

Unity through negation

Yesterday my cousin Valentina texted me the following message(my English translation): Living is the art of mediation with the others. I need to contradict myself to reach a compromise, thus achieving conciliation. Otherwise, it’s death and apathy. Conflict is positive if obtained through mediation, which is not just yielding, but understanding the right mechanism.Without clash with the others we wouldn’t grow up. Now, this is for sure a lesson of self development which should be posted in the appropriate page of this blog. But first, I would like to reflect on a couple of points not strictly related to the content of this message but to the reason of it. Although she did not state the source at the end of it, I assumed that Hegel was the author of it (if not textually, in the substance), since she mentioned that she was revising him on Saturday in preparation to her test. It’s not the first time she sends me passages by others of her beloved philosophers as a way to share her philosophical experience with me. However, this time she pointed out very clearly how much she hated Hegel for being so bold, obscure and wordy. In fact, she also complained the difficulty she was encountering in applying Hegel’s complex system to her life. This message confirmed that eventually she did manage to find a connection between the Hegelian investigation and her concrete life, through the *dialectical* nature of our (confronting) relationship. I was glad to be passively useful to her epistemological pathway and to hear that she comprehended, and appreciated, the "dynamic quality" of our arguments. According to Hegel in fact, “Contradiction and negation have a dynamic quality that at every point in each domain of reality -- consciousness, history, philosophy, art, nature, society -- leads to further development until a rational unity is reached that preserves the contradictions as phases and sub-parts of a larger, evolutionary whole”.* Last consideration—Did she want to show me how wise she is even though she was born 10 years after me? Oh no, I will take it as a message of love; a step towards (our) unity. * © Wikipedia

Some flowers, some chocolate and a book

Today I have NOTHING to do at work and no plans for the evening. So, all the ingredients for a dull day are here, until I got two surprises: the presentation copies of the big book I have been working over the last months arrived! And shortly after also a big box containing a bunch of lilies with some lush chocolate, and a card saying: Ciao Piccolina, just a little reminder to tell you I love you and will always care for you. Let's hope the future is as beautiful as these flowers. Very romantic to this point, so romantic I was nearly doubting about the identity of the sender, until I read: But go easy on the chocs. :o) Any doubt about the written credits vanished like that. Mwha X

Memoirs of a Geisha

Director: Rob Marshall (Chicago)

Written by: Arthur Golden (Novel)

Year: 2005

Language: English

Country: Japan

Plot: In 1929 an impoverished nine-year-old named Chiyo from a fishing village is sold to a geisha house in Kyoto's Gion district and subjected to cruel treatment from the owners and the head geisha Hatsumomo. Her stunning beauty attracts the vindictive jealousy of Hatsumomo, until she is rescued by and taken under the wing of Hatsumomo's bitter rival, Mameha. Under Mameha's mentorship, Chiyo becomes the geisha named Sayuri, trained in all the artistic and social skills a geisha must master in order to survive in her society. As a renowned geisha she enters a society of wealth, privilege, and political intrigue. As World War II looms Japan and the geisha's world are forever changed by the onslaught of history.

I had the honour to watch this film in exclusive preview two days ago. I got the invitation through a friend working in the marketing and publicity department of a very well known London publishing house. The viewing was hosted in a private club in the heart of Soho. We were offered drinks in the 20s style sumptuous bar and the opportunity to chat a bit before the immersion in an atmospheric old Japan.

What to say about it? It was another beautiful film, with stunning costumes, a moving biography and a great cast. A film which has been already acclaimed in Tokyo, and which I am sure will gain the approval of the occidental audience, who will be intrigued by the secrets of becoming the most popular geisha and its significance in the pre- and post-war Japan. A western viewer will be also captured by the ambience and vibes of the 30s and 40s Japan, here reproduced so perfectly to verge on complacency.

Having seen the House of Flying Daggers just the night before, it was inevitable for me to make a comparison between the two films starring, by the way, the same main actress (Ziyi Zhang). Okay, one is set in Japan and the other in China, which means I should avoid generalisations about the two (different) cultures. Furthermore, one is directed by an established Chinese director and the other by an American (Rob Marshall) and based on a novel by another American (Arthur Golden). Incidentally, this explains perhaps why a Chinese actress (Ziyi Zhang) could play the role of a Japanese woman!

Maybe I was influenced by this detail, constantly reminded by the language (the film is in English), and could not dissolve the impression that her memoirs from childhood to maturity were chronicled with a sequential, steady, and therefore rather *conventional*, rhythm, and embellished with a certain degree of occidental soppiness and drama which was not very involving, as opposed to the slower, more sophisticated and deeply gripping style of Asian directors, such as Yimou Zhang and Kar Wai Wong. Said that, the film remains a must-see, and the book, perhaps, an even more absorbing reading.

House of Flying Daggers

Director: Yimou Zhang
Written by: Feng Li. Bin Wang, Yimou Zhang

Year: 2004

Country: China/Hong Kong

Language: Mandarin

Runtime: 119 minutes

Plot: During the reign of the Tang dynasty in China, a secret organization called "The House of the Flying Daggers" rises and opposes the government. A police officer called Leo sends officer Jin to investigate a young dancer named Mei, claiming that she has ties to the "Flying Daggers". Leo arrests Mei, only to have Jin breaking her free in a plot to gain her trust and lead the police to the new leader of the secret organization. But things are far more complicated than they seem

As recommended by Lindsey (see side bar), I have finally managed to watch this film and, like her, I was surprised to have enjoyed it that much.

I watched Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon some years ago and found the combats a bit too scenic, too boring and ridiculously unrealistic. At the time, I was missing the crucial sense of their mise-en-scene: the poetry with which Ang Lee was trying to recreate, through the magic world of martial arts, the mythical and classical China.

In The House of Flying Daggers the combats, filtered through the metaphor of fluid and symmetrical dancing movements, resulted more pleasant to the eye and thus more *accessible*. And then, behind the spectacular action, there was a story of loyalty and betrayal, whose gradual disclosure constantly diverted the viewer’s expectations, confounding him or her about the real feelings, priorities and drives of the characters. As Lindsey says, this film was a "disguised melodrama", concealed by the sense of duty and honour of the respective parties, preventing them from showing any sentimentalism, but not strong enough to prevent their most passionate feelings to emerge at times. In tune with the lyrical style of the film, those passions do eventually explode in a poetic and non-conventional fashion. And the result is even more disheartening than any emotional dramas a western spectator is more accustomed with.

And she (Ziyi Zhang) is wonder-full! A bold and at the same time graceful & child-like beauty.

House of Flying Daggers :: 30 Second Review

Director: Yimou Zhang
Written by: Feng Li, Bin Wang, Yimou Zhang

Year: 2004

Country: China/Hong Kong

Language: Mandarin

Runtime: 119 minutes

Plot: During the reign of the Tang dynasty in China, a secret organization called "The House of the Flying Daggers" rises and opposes the government. A police officer called Leo sends officer Jin to investigate a young dancer named Mei, claiming that she has ties to the "Flying Daggers". Leo arrests Mei, only to have Jin breaking her free in a plot to gain her trust and lead the police to the new leader of the secret organization. But things are far more complicated than they seem

As recommended by Lindsey, I have finally managed to watch this film and, like her, I was surprised to have enjoyed it that much.

I watched Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon some years ago and found the combats a bit too scenic, too boring and ridiculously unrealistic. At the time, I was missing the crucial sense of their mise-en-scene: the poetry with which Ang Lee was trying to recreate, through the magic world of martial arts, the mythical and classical China.

In The House of Flying Daggers the combats, filtered through the metaphor of fluid and symmetrical dancing movements, resulted more pleasant to the eye and thus more *accessible*. And then, behind the spectacular action, there was a story of loyalty and betrayal, whose gradual disclosure constantly diverted the viewer’s expectations, confounding him or her about the real feelings, priorities and drives of the characters. As Lindsey says, this film was a "disguised melodrama", concealed by the sense of duty and honour of the respective parties, preventing them from showing any sentimentalism, but not strong enough to prevent their most passionate feelings from emerging at times. In tune with the lyrical style of the film, those passions do eventually explode in a poetic and non-conventional fashion. And the result is even more disheartening than any emotional dramas a western spectator is accustomed with.

And she (Ziyi Zhang) is wonder-full! A bold and at the same time graceful & child-like beauty.

More fashion: Autumn and Xmas Look

Here is my current Autumn prêt a porter look which I will endeavour to describe without posting any pictures: I recently got a Cacharel stripy wool jumper which I love for its colour combinations (blue, green and brown), cut and warmness. I usually match it with blue large trousers bought in Berlin six years ago, and accessorise with a brown thick leather belt from Topshop and a big blue rose. My alternative evening look is: black skinny trousers, with knee-high black leather boots, white t-shirt with uncovered back, long satin black gloves and visible purple bra by Agent Provocateur (see Carrie B.’s style). I am also currently elaborating a Xmas evening look: Option 1. Long dark purple dress (similar to the one pictured below) with lime ballet shoes (see picture below) and yellow gold jewelleries. I am still thinking of the hand bag, probably in gold or in the same lime colour of the shoes. Hair: pony tail and gold hair band worn as a crown (see Sienna Miller right). Option 2. Navy blue chiffon dress, knee long, imperial style and with puffy skirt, lived up by titian red tights, leopard ballet pumps (with red trimmings), shocking pink leather gloves and pink ribbon wrapped just underneath the chest. Hair: Alice band and 60s volume. Make up: strong red lipstick and short and squared fire red nails. Real photos available after Xmas.

A Fashionist Manqué (part one)

Let's clarify it once and for good. I am NOT a brand obsessed or a fashion victim AT ALL, but I certainly AM a style aficionado and a street fashion adorer. I have always loved dressing my Barbie up and making clothes for her with everything I could find at my disposal. At the age of 13 I used to create fashion collections by designing them on paper and adding accurate commentaries for each style. Browsing fashion magazines and people watching are still my most relaxing and passive hobbies. In this sense, I feel a bit, if not a fashion designer manqué, a fashionist manqué. I grew up within an Italian society where IMAGE (good clothes, nicely combed hair) is important and la BELLA FIGURA (good manners, well presence) is vital, but I also grew up in a very simple and cautious family who couldn't, and can't, comprehend consumerism, exhibitionism and frivolousness. So, I have always felt a bit guilty of talking about something which is perceived as not *serious* enough. But since it is part of what I am and it shouldn't be a shame cultivating a style which is our most direct form of communication and expression, I have decided to start talking a bit more about my fashion tastes. My tastes are a bit exhibitionist (I mean, if a pair of glasses have to sit on your nose, they have to be visible) but never excessive; I spend money for my basic items of my wardrobe, but without overspending. I mean, I have never spent £400 for a pair of Louboutin shoes or for a Balenciaga bag, and I am honestly not interested in it, simply because I perceive them as targeted to another market which is not mine. As simple as that. Furthermore, my style is also very individual: I don't like many things: I don't like frou frou frocks, the majority of trousers' cuts and I am ueber-fussy when down to shoes. So what do I like? In order to budget my expenses (because unfortunately my creativity is limited by my financial restraints), every season I think of a liaison style I want for my self, suiting my mood, figure and, above all, my personality (there is no way I could wear a pair of heels if I can't feel confident in them. I'd rather change the outfit), then I list some basic *more expensive* items I wish and match them with *cheaper* pieces (usually tops and accessories). In my next post I will be more visual and concrete about what it is/would like to be in my wardrobe.

Highlight of last week: party in Camden

I have abandonded my creature for a while. I am now in the embarassing situation of having loads to say and not knowing where to start. Well let's start with the highlight of last week: on Wednesday I went to an Italian house party in Camden. Francesco and his cute & delicate Japanese girlfriend were the party organisers. Fra is an Italian teacher, so all the people at the party were his current or past students. Apart from the usual crowd (Valentina, Daniele, Francesca, etc.), we were a quite heterogenous group, including some old and new bizzarre people, who someone could label as *weirdo*. First, I met a couple (he is a writer for television dramas & she is a film director) who is moving to Poggiobello, near Perugia, in 2006. She was particularly smiley and open, he was more reserved but looked a very interesting person. I talked mainly with her, and mainly about Perugia and life plans. They have just bought a house there and are looking forward to their new adventure. They also have two kids (10 and 8 years old) who need learn Italian. So I acted as a network mediator and told her that my friend Fede, who is an Italian and English teacher, might be available to offer them private tuition. She was also into yoga, so I gave her the name of my ex yoga teacher in Perugia. She said she was planning to have loads of parties in the new house and would invite us. Exciting! When she said they had their first child when they were 33, I was surprised: I thought they looked great at 43. I could somehow identify with their lives, and I liked the idea. Then I met an older Italian woman with three adolescent children. She was bizarre: low voice and languid manners. Apparently she is a literary translator. I talked for a while with a girl from Tokyo. She spoke great English considering that she was in London only on holiday. She told me that the sushi we eat here it is not remotely similar to the sushi in Japan. She thinks that restaurants here cover the fish with sauces and spices which alter its flavour. Fair enough but still disappointed. I truly believed that London was the world in a city. I still think London is the most cosmopolitan capital of Europe, but I also keep in mind all the commercial side of it. She invited me to Tokyo and, of course, I accepted. I have no idea when I will be able to afford to go, but this is a detail. I met Laura again, a girl from Pescara (Abruzzo) I got to know some months back at another party. She is very funny, sweet and ... a bit cartoon-like, which I love because she is a bit like me. In February she decided to move to Edinbra, bought a car in half an hour (!) and drove to Scotland without insurance and alone (first time she was driving in this country). She took 24 hours to get there. In August she decided to move back here, because she found the city too boring, and now she is back. I am happy she is, because she is very entertaining. Finally we met Dario Formica, a phenomenon. He was naïvely HILARIOUS! He is a musician, but has done other 100 jobs as well, not at the moment though. At the moment he is having a break. He told us that in Rome he was known as El Pasticca (the Pill) because people used to think he was always stoned. He assured us he is naturally a n-u-t-t-e-r and never took drugs. He told me that I reminded him a friend of him when he was 8 years old?!? When he said he thought I was 22 or something (‘na pischella), I decided he was my friend and exchanged tel numbers. I had a quiet weekend with some flu coming up, so this is all for now. X

Lofty's Arty Idea

... for those who think he is not creative. You take 200 disposable cameras, and number them. Then you give each camera to 200 people and get them to start in the same location, at different spots, for example at set places in a theatre. Then at the same time they all take a photo, at an object on the stage. The resulting photos are put together in a collage, give an all seeing eye perspective of the object from everywhere in the theatre. You can also repeat the exerise at various locations. Cool or what?

At last, a good news (?)

'A third of pubs' to open longer It was time to give a chance to the British population to learn how to drink, if not less (see below), at least in the continental style: i.e. in a civilised way around a table. ;o )

The question is: will they learn quickly enough?

"DOES THE REST OF EUROPE REALLY DRINK LESS THAN US? No, France and several other countries drink more alcohol per head. Historically the heaviest drinking countries were the wine producers. For many years, France had one of the highest known levels of alcohol consumption but it has recently stabilised. In the latest figures supplied by the Institute of Alcohol Studies, the UK's alcohol consumption per capita ranked it ninth among selected countries, behind France, but ahead of Australia (23rd) and the US (26th).

However, if present trends continue, the UK will overtake France in a couple of years. And already the UK's teenagers drink more heavily than nearly all their counterparts across Europe. A Datamonitor report found that UK women under 25 drink more than their European counterparts, and by 2009, it's expected to rise another 31% to three times as much as young women in France and Italy." © BBC Girls in Italy are too concerned about calories and their shape.

Recensione d'Arte :: Omaggio a Tamara

Royal Academy of Arts, London, 15 May--30 August 2004    La mostra dei dipinti di Tamara De Lempicka dagli anni venti ai quaranta non poteva trovare locazione migliore del sontuoso palazzo in stile classico-rinascimentale della Royal Academy of Arts di Londra, che fino al 30 agosto accoglie in quattro diverse sale le tele più rappresentative di un'artista oggi ricordata come icona di glamour e stile, ma anche di Art Deco e modernità.    I dipinti esposti, tutti rigorosamente a olio, dai colori brillanti, corposi e amalgamati in un gioco di chiaro-scuri magistrale, sono per lo piu' di dimensioni superbe, e sempre superbamente ritraggono volti algidi e pose regali di amici aristocratici, e dei mecenati che Tamara amava adulare con il pennello in cambio di un posto d’onore nell’alta società parigina.

La sua formazione cubista emerge nei quadri in maniera esplicita [Tamara aveva avuto due maestri cubisti quando frequentava l’accademia a Parigi], ma per lei il cubismo è una mera tecnica estetico-pittorica che serve a conferire maestosità e persino sensualità plastica ai quadri, i quali, quasi paradossalmente, mai si allontanano da un gusto classico e perfino realista.     Un’artista conservatrice dunque, che si ispira alle scuole dei grandi maestri italiani rinascimentali (vedi Bathing Women, 1929 e Adam and Eve, 1931) in una Parigi controversa, che fermenta di nuove tendenze d’avanguardia, dissacratrici delle scuole tradizionali, della storia dell’arte e dell’arte storica. Cubismo e surrealismo in Europa, astrattismo in America sono i nuovi movimenti che serpeggiano tra i circoli artistici e che, ancora tacitamente, si contrappongono alla cultura ufficiale. In quest’ambiente avanguardistico lo stile peculiare di Tamara e' incompreso dai ‘colleghi’. Se anche vivrà a pieno la vita mondana parigina, dove si trasferisce giovanissima dalla originaria Polonia comunista, venendo a contatto con artisti quali André Gide (vedi Ritratto di André Gide), rimarrà sempre un’outsider sia in Francia che negli Stati Uniti.    Tamara trova la sua apoteosi artistica negli anni tra le due guerre, anni frivoli e allo stesso tempo decadenti come a presagire una seconda guerra che non tarderà a venire. L’Art Deco è la cultura ufficiale di questi anni, quella che meglio rappresenta la vuotezza e il tentativo di escapism in un decorativismo elegante, sensuale, e fine a se stesso.     Tamara è meticolosa nell’attenzione ai dettagli e nelle decorazioni di chiaro gusto liberty (le calle che si mimetizzano tra le pieghe degli abiti sono un elemento decorativo ricorrente). I suoi ritratti potrebbero facilmente occupare la copertina di un numero di Vogue del tempo, ma alla pura estetica l'artista sovrappone anche un’etica rivoluzionaria: l’emancipazione della donna che ha il diritto di indossare abiti maschili, di tagliarsi i capelli alla garçon, e persino di scegliere la sua sessualità. Pose ambigue di nudi femminili popolano la fantasia della Lempicka sin dai primi inizi della sua carriera (prima sala), ed elementi quasi futuristici si impongono sullo sfondo di ogni ritratto: grattacieli e città lunari ricordano il colore del metallo e dell’era industriale.    L'autoritratto di lei all guida di una macchina (Autoportratit, 1925) -- che, insieme a Girl in a green dress e' stato omesso dalla mostra -- e' emblematico, quale simbolo di indipendenza e di modernita'. Tale omissione pero' non ha corrotto il senso della mostra e della sua arte, ma ha semplicemente privato lo spettatore del piacere di ammirare due quadri stilisticamente perfetti. [Chi ha avuto però la fortuna di andare alla mostra Art Deco al V&A museum di Londra l’anno scorso, sarà stato deliziato da tale visione immersa in un ambiente retrò.]

Tamara diventa cosi' per noi icona sui generis in bilico tra il suo passato (classicismo), presente (Art Deco), e futuro (modernismo).    Gli anni successivi agli anni trenta, appena accennati nell’ultima sala della mostra, rispecchiano il periodo di crisi artistica che hanno dirotto l’attenzione della Lempicka verso le classi popolari in un anelito di realismo puro. I risultati sono deludenti e patetici. Unica eccezione è La madre superiora il cui sguardo esprime un pathos convincente.

Completamente assenti nelle sale della RA sono gli anni Newyorchesi in cui Tamara si avvicina all’astrattismo, quale tentativo ipocrita di essere accolta nell’establishment artistico americano. Anche questo tentativo fallisce, e la sua figura pubblica si eclissa. Tale processo di involuzione è stato, a ragione, trascurato dalla mostra in quanto non indica, a mio parere, una mancanza di talento ed eclettismo, ma semplicemente uno stile che non le appartiene e non le è congeniale per sua natura.     I quadri della Lempicka infatti, per quanto possano essere additati di superficialita' ("… i suoi ritratti non mostrano personalita' ma solo bellezza"), hanno una forte carica visiva, e l'uso originale dei chiaro-scuri e delle prospettive inusuali la annoverano tra i grandi maestri della storia dell'arte moderna. La mostra di Londra, che presenta per la prima volta una retrospettiva ‘completa’ dell'eta' d’oro di Tamara De Lempicka, si pone sulla scia dell’ultima mostra organizzata a Parigi da due giovani galleristi che, negli ultimissimi anni della vita di lei, la convinsero a esibire i primi quadri degli anni gloriosi. E la mostra fu un successo.

Some numbers

~ Today it's my dad's birthday. Happy birthday, Dad. He turns 58 years old.

~ Today I have sent for press a 2500 pages book. This is a real accomplishment. What a relief!

~ I am about to go and see a flat (to buy) on the market for 199K sterling pounds.

~ Tonight we are having 2 small chickens (sort of midgets) for dinner. And I am going to pack: two pair of shoes, two presents for Magali, two pair of trousers, my hairy hear plugs and two thick jumpers because it is going to be cold in Paris.

~ Two friends between yesterday and today informed be that they are pregnant. Both have my age (more or less), one is married and one is not. But both will be fantastic mothers.

Great Escape

Over the last few weeks I have been enjoying Jamie Oliver's Great Escape to Italy. He travelled around central and south of Italy in his VW camper to get some inspiration from the people and their food. It is a quite funny series especially because nobody knows "Jamie Oliver" down there, and everybody treated him as an inexperienced young boy (with gorgeous eye). Very amusing! The only disappointing aspect is that there is not much cooking going on and not real interaction with the locals since naughty Jamie has not learnt much Italian so far (does he remind you someone?), and the people he visits can hardly speak any English. However, some of his observations are really acute. He said two very true things about Italians: 1. that everybody considers him- or herself an expert of taste; and 2. that people are very sometimes stubborn and reluctant to try different cusines, not only from different countries, but even from the different regions of Italy. In one episode, a controversial footage upset some Channel 4 viewers: "Jamie Oliver hit the headlines again last week when he was seen slaughtering a lamb during the filming of Jamie’s Great Escape. Some viewers complained to Channel 4 claiming the killing was ‘barbarous’ and should not have been broadcast before the 9pm watershed. Jamie himself was close to tears during the killing and afterwards admitted it was ‘pretty emotional --pretty hard-core’. Britain’s favourite chef was shown holding a knife to the lamb’s throat and hesitating before killing the animal." © Channel4 This took place where my family lives and where I grew up: in Le Marche. I grew up witnessing chickens and pigeons getting 'slaughtered' and always found it normal. I was a bit sad for the rabbits because I used to play with them putting them in a basket and pretending they were my children (?!?). But I admit that the scene of the baby sheep getting stabbed was a bit hard even for me. I am pleased that it was shown because this is one of the less cruel way animals are killed. And I agree with Jamie's comment: "It's a beautiful creature, but it is tasty and we are top of the food chain. If that offends you, you shouldn’t eat it. A chef who has cooked 2,000 sheep should kill at least one, otherwise you're a fake." "The programme featured Jamie staying with a family of farmers and hunters in Le Marche region of Italy. Not only did he kill the lamb for a family feast--but he was seen trying to shoot, but missing a wild boar while on a hunting trip. It later showed a three year old girl joining in as the family skinned and gutted the wild boar into her paddling pool." © Channel4 As Jamie says: "Life is made of ugly things and not just of teletubbies". I simply concur--this is a natural way to show *ugliness* to children. "Some critics felt that the killing, the way many lambs are killed in rural Italy, was inhumane as the animal was still conscious. In the UK animals must be killed on licensed premises and must first be stunned--normally with a bolt to the head." © Channel4 But it is added: "However both the Jewish and Muslim faiths are exempt from this law because their religions demand animals are killed with a single cut to the throat. [...] The method of killing the lamb was one not out of the ordinary in rural Italy and one considered humane by all present. Jamie feels that the piece is an honest and powerful account of how meat is respected in Italy. Italians consider animal welfare of the utmost importance. A large percentage of animals are reared organically rather than by battery methods. The hunters of the La Marche region have a much purer notion of the relationship between animals and meat than, say, a person who buys beef burgers on a weekly basis, without any consideration for how the animal in the products was raised or by the way in which they were killed.'" © Channel4 Oh, and here is a nice recipe: Vignole

Rebecca by Alfred Hitchcock

Director: Alfred Hitchcock
Written by: Daphne Du Maurier (novel) and Philip MacDonald (adaptation)
Cast: Laurence Olivier as George Fortescu Maximillian 'Maxim' de Winter; Joan Fontaine as The Second Mrs. de Winter; George Sanders as Jack Favell; Judith Anderson Mrs Danvers.

Year: 1940
Runtime: 130 min
Country: USA
Language: English
Colour: Black and White

Rebecca is an engaging romance, a psychological drama and a mystery story, with Hitchcock's distinctive touch of ambiguous suspense, all successfully mixed in one little jewel. It is definitely in my top ten of favourite classics.

An unnamed woman (Joan Fontaine), sweet and graceful as well as clumsy and shy, meets a handsome and wealthy widower (Laurence Olivier), whose manners are obscurely caring and, at times, quite abrupt. He is attractive, mysterious and endowed with a witty irony which enchants the heroine. Unsurprisingly, she immediately falls in love with him, and he falls in love with her spontaneity and freshness. When he proposes (in amusing circumstances), she accepts instantly. From now on I start feeling bit apprehensive for her reckless choice of marrying an unknown man who has choosen for wife an average woman, beautiful and refined with no doubts, but not particularly talented and from a lower social class. The service takes place intimately in the local council of Montecarlo (France) where, for his choice, no other guest has been invited.

From the fashionable south of France where they meet, the married couple moves to the gothic estate of Manderley in Cornwall. At her new home (a luxurious castle overlooking the sea), the second Mrs De Winter gradually realises that the aura of his previous wife, Rebecca, is still very present in the house. The new spouse starts timidly enquiring about Rebecca's life and persona, and finds out that she tragically died in the sea and that her husband has been deeply affected by this loss. Rebecca’s bedroom, the most beautiful in the palace, is the only room enjoying a glorious view over the sea and has been left vacant ever since her death. Rebecca is described by the household as the most beautiful creature in the planet, stylish, high educated, with fine tastes and deeply loved by her governess and husband. The heroine is surprised and chilled to acknowledge how different Rebecca is from her, and she wonders why Mr De Winter chose to marry a humble and inexperienced woman. In an attempt of imitating what has become an obsessive shadow and in order to please her lover, Mrs De Winter starts ordering expensive dresses from London (digression--her black long dress with white roses on the front is lush to my eyes!) and decides to organise a fancy party to bring the villa back to its former glory. Everything is according to plans, until she has a frightening revelation.

I can’t add anything more to this descriptive summary without spoiling the plot. So I will stop here.

The most captivating aspect of this story is that, although the house is impressed with Rebecca’s personal possessions as if she is still alive, no pictures or photos of her are shown in the mansion. Yet, from the servants' descriptions and accounts, by looking at her clothes and personal items, it is easy and rather intriguing to picture Rebecca as a demonic femme fatale. Her depiction clearly reminds me of Carmilla's. Another parallel to this latter is the morbid attitude the devilish governess shows towards the dead woman, which recalls again very much the lesbian attitude Carmilla has towards her victims. And the sinister figure of the housekeeper respects all the typical literary canons, with an astonishing accomplishment.

The following two passages, respectively from Carmilla and from Rebecca, echo each others notably:

Laura: "... to this hour the image of Carmilla returns to memory with ambiguous alternations--sometimes the playful, languid, beautiful girl; sometimes the writhing fiend I saw in the ruined church; and often from a reverie I have started, fancying I heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing-room door."

Mrs Danvers: "You wouldn't think she'd been gone so long, would you? Sometimes, when I walk along the corridor, I fancy I hear her just behind me. That quick light step, I couldn't mistake it anywhere. It's not only in this room, it's in all the rooms in the house. I can almost hear it now."

But unlike Carmilla, Rebecca's nature remains human. What I generally appreciate of Hitchcock’s films* is exactly this. Apart from the impressive photography, the elegant characters and daunting portraits, what I truly enjoy is the fact that, although there is a climax, terror is ably built up throughout the film: the viewer is always on the verge of expecting a supernatural phenomenon, which never happens, because Hitchcock reminds us to 'always fear the living and not the dead'.

"Mrs Danvers: Do you think the dead come back and watch the living?
The Second Mrs. de Winter: N-no, I don't believe it."

This technique of ambiguously mingling real with metaphisical terror stimulates an active imagination in the audience, and chilling emotions are certainly ensured. On the other hand, the denouement is always quick, rather painless and always relieving—a reassuring facet for those who are not thriller aficionados but adamant of sophisticated thrilling classics.

* This is the third Hotchcock film I have enjoyed, the first being Rear Window (1954) and the second Notorious (1946). And no, I haven't watched Psycho as yet, but it is in my waiting list and I have already seen all the clips at the Saul Bass exhibition last year.

Picking Time

You see, I have been working hard lately, so hard that I hardly posted anything over the last two weeks and I hardly had a social life. Now, it is time to start living instead of watching myself living. So, no more posts, reviews or reports until next week. I am off gathering the fruits of my fatigue. Here is the town where I am going to spend the next few days: Chippenham, right in the heart of the English countryside. And on the photos the cottage where I am going to stay with other seven young ladies. We were very organised: we ordered food and booze through internet which will be delivered to the property tomorrow afternoon and we are planning to stay one night in and go one night out, and to stay one day in and go one day out. The perfect idyllic weekend I was looking forward to. Have a good weekend you all. X

Grace Solero

Friday night 4 Nov 2005 -- Metro Club, London -- Grace Solero

It was the first time I heard her singing. Some weeks before we were sitting in a Brazilian bar in Camden, and Grace was trying to describe me her music. It is incredibly hard for artists to inscribe their art into categories, and, without exceptions, she was reluctant to. But, as an ignorant profane of the music world and a pedantic scholar, I needed come kind of definition, a value meter to figure her genre out. Francesca came in help and summarised it with “it's kind of melodic rock. She has got a beautiful voice”. A vague definition, but fair enough.

And then the gig. She was energetic, deeply involved and yes, her voice was beautiful, melodic and, I would add, her songs incredibly rhythmic. They invited me dancing even though I was a novice. I particularly liked the songs with her acoustic guitar where her voice emerged clearer. She is actually having an acoustic performance in December. Sadly, I can’t go that night.

Lofty gambled defining her music a cross between Skunk Anensie (for the style) and Echobelly for the voice. I think I have to listen to her again, and again, and possibly to have another chat with her before expressing any sort of critique.

What I have learnt today at work ...

Did you know that "To follow someone with two or more persons in a disorderly manner, or alone from place to place, without legal authority, is a crime"? From Clerk and Lindsell on Torts, the book I am trying to materially publish by the end of the year. ... For who thought that I publish boring stuff ... :o P

An in-valuable blog

You will all agree, my dearest *blog-fella*, that a blog is priceless for a myriad of reasons: a blog collects words coming from the heart, it's your window overlooking the world, it's your own creature. You don't write for money, for profit, or interest. Oh, no. You write to cure your wounds, to read, be read and re-read yourself, to share, be shared and create a borderless net (see all my speculations on why a blog here). You have no idea how happy you make me every day. How awe-inspiring and thrilling is for me (and my self-esteem) to see the coloured flags fanning on my NeoCounter window. Now--it may be the usual crowd of friends and family compulsively following my posts, for pure pity. It may be. I don't really care, as long as the site meter keeps tracking down some-one accessing my blog, even by mistake, I will be happy and cheerful. Said that, my joy raised to the exponential degree when Personalita' Confusa, The most popular blogger in Italy--therefore an authority for me, reported that your blog can be worth $$! According to the the blogologist Tristan Louis--PC informs--through mysterious (to me) calculations, your blog's value can be estimated at: How Much is Worth My Blog Ehm... I am not greedy. I am not.

Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween to everybody!

Well, it is a proper gloomy night for me ... Alone, at home, after a heavy day at work. No pumpkin. No trick or treat. After all, Hallo-ween is not an officially celebrated feast in my country. Instead of honouring the Celtic priests, we celebrate all the saints and hold memorial for our dead relatives … This year the holy-day falls on Tuesday, so people keep celebrating their bereavements from Saturday to Tuesday, included. We do know how to treat our dears down there.

I finally managed one hour of yoga after one week of forced break. And now, a frugal dinner, then, some knitting exercise. Yes, I restarted this neo-trendy activity. After the successful scarf and the saggy bag I dared to offer to my lovely cousin for Xmas last year, I took the courage to grab the needles again. Well, I had to: expensive 100% wool has been sitting in my basket for ages. I am not doing anything pretentious, just some plain scarves and hats decorated with some pom-poms and ribbons. This time, only if I succeed, I will wrap it up and offer to some good soul for Xmas.

I am not sure I will be able to post anything this week, so, out of interest, here is my weekly plan: work work work. Spanish tomorrow, more yoga on Wed, Gig of an Italian friend (Grace) on Friday. Xmas shopping on Saturday. And party in Brixton on Saturday night. Chilling out on Sunday with my friend Manuele and his lovely Brasilian girlfriend. Amanda has gone--One week to Lanzarote with other four ladies. Bless her! But just before she left, we managed to book a night out together to a ‘40s style club (a separate post about it will follow shortly, because this miraculous discovery does deserve its own space).

Happy Birthday, Trevor!

Resume of this past weekend I spent Friday at home complaining about how busy I am at work, and I finally finished the Da Vinci Code. Saturday I lazed around the flat till 5pm when we headed off to Surrey for Steve’s dad’s 60^th birthday. It was a nice night of food, booze and chats. Steve and I were the youngest and therefore the the olders' (than us) centre of the attention. [At least, I am still the youngest at parties, sometimes!] Lovely people. Every conversation started with questions (theirs) and answers (mine) about Italy and ended up with amazing travel reports (theirs) around the globe. People in Italy do not travel as much as in this country, especially *mature* people. This aspect still--after three years and seven months I have been living in UK--amazes me. Steve’s dad got many presents, including loads of alcohol, a water machine, a cool DVD recorder (from us*) and an Italian learning CD (wrong person?). I was completely unaware of his desire of learning Italian—and so he was. Very embarrassing when he and someone else thought that I did buy it for him, which I did not. How presumptuous would it be? Finally, Steve gave a mini-speech in his dad’s honour which was a bit clumsy (because unpreapared) but really sweet. He mentioned all his father's holy patience, challenged all the way through Steve's adolescence, and everybody in the background was echoing his words with a *Oh, yes, poor Trevor* -- quite amusing. Apologies in advance if someone finds this phrase annoying, but 'public speaking is sooooo English' (maybe also American?), a bizarrely formal habit which I am still (after three years and seven months) not used to. I tentatively tried to emulate it in a couple of occasions with my Italian friends, and they all laughed at me (rather than laughing for what incredibly amusing I was saying).

The weekend proceeded in a quite relaxed way with me working on Sunday in order to ease the burden of this coming week. Well thought, but how sad.

* Linda, Lindsey, Keven, Juliette, Ilsa, Steve & I.

So, why Carmilla?

This is the question by many people who met me after 20.02.2002, a palindromic date to seal the day of my long-awaited graduation in Foreign Languages and Literature. Well, Carmilla is one of the most memorable characters created by the novelist I wrote my final dissertation about: Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. Specifically, a (useless) philological essay of 35.000 words about one of his novels (Uncle Silas).

Photo (c) Andy Julia

And who is Carmilla? Carmilla is a woman vampire. She embodies all the features of the oral legend, with some peculiarities: not only she is a woman, but she ambiguously targets women. The interesting point is that the famous Dracula by Bran Stocker was published some years after the release of the short story Carmilla. 

Is Carmilla lesbic? And who are Millarca and Mircalla? Why don't you find it out by yourself? You can download the novella from here. 

Excert from Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

 

"Sometimes there came a sensation as if a hand was drawn softly along my cheek and neck. Sometimes it was as if warm lips kissed me, and longer and more lovingly as they reached my throat, but there the caress fixed itself. My heart beat: faster, my breathing rose and fell rapidly and full drawn; a sobbing, that rose into a sense of strangulation, and turned into a dreadful convulsion, in which my senses me and I became unconscious." 

Sunday Log: home sweet home

Home sweet home--I haven't left this place for two days, except for a pop into the supermarket yesterday morning, and, for a change, I don't feel bored or restless at all. I feel I made a good used of my domestic time. I really needed some time with myself and the discreet & supportive presence of my partner. First of all, I organised my hectic coming week at work. On Friday afternoon I stayed in the office till 7pm and felt all the stress of the week on my shoulders. I got into a kind of inner panic. In that moment I resolved I needed take it easy, trying to regenerate my spirits and come up with a careful working plan for the week ahead. I have probably mentioned this before, but I have to publish three books between November and December (plus a number of releases), and one of them is an over 3500 pages title. I feel all the pressure of the overcoming deadlines.

I spent time reading The Art of Happiness, other people's blogs, films reviews about the London Film Festival and I am finishing the Da Vinci Code; I worked on my blog; had a nice chat with my Parissienne friend and texted some more friends; I did *Spring cleaning*; underwent a couple of beauty rituals; ; and finally made the change of wardrobe for the winter--it was definitely time to dig up the warmest coat from the back of my cupboard. I even studied a bit of Spanish, although I have still to write a composition which I am going to do after publishing this post and while Mr. Lofty is intent preparing dinner. I also watched two films: When Henry Met Sally, again after many many years, and at last, but not least, the Big Sleep *open credits to closing credits* after two previous failed attempts (I fell asleep the first time and I was too distracted the second time).

This is the first film I watch with critical and aware eye starring Lauren Bacall and the second film with Humphrey Bogard (the first being the Maltese Falcon). I mean, I have seen LB & HB many times on the screen but I can't recall one film, except vaguely the comedy How to Marry a Millionaire--and, as all the pre-2002 films I watched, I did it in Italian, which is another story. I enjoyed this film: I found Bogard’s performance wicked in his own style and Bacall stunning. I was just happy of being transposed for two hours into a ‘40s detective story and following Bogart through this complex net of complots. LovelySalome wrote an acute review about it, to which I draw your attention for a more complete picture, since she has been following the couple for a while. I share her *taste* about The Big Sleep: there was no romance there (Bogart flirted more with the other beauties he occasionally bumped into than with HER), and this was a shame. The two characters seemed to be both endowed with a fierce and conceited personality which prevented any sugary love story. Something I haven't done at all this weekend: cooking. But I still feel somehow revamped and ready to face another Monday early wake up... At least I hope so.

A dream

I had a dream, or rather a nightmare, last night. We were burgled by a child, which we managed to catch, persecuted by one of the London terrorist suspect bomber, and I was pregnant and took the news very badly: I was depressed and felt like trapped in a cage. Even my parents were heart-less and treated me like a child almost ignoring my condition. I was happy to wake up and realise it was just a dream. There is no need to bother Freud to understand that this dream included some of my biggest fears. But I do not understand why my pregnancy scared me so much. My friend Laura yesterday emailed me saying that she had the same dream: I was pregnant (again), but in her dream I was happy and so my mum--which she found very strange.

I love children and I do want them one day (I always say that I would like both my own and adopted children). But not now. So, maybe it was the unplanned event which upset me. I perfectly see myself with toddlers and grown up kids, and I am fascinated by the gestation time and not scared by the delivery, because I find the most miracolous event in nature. But I have difficulties in seeing myself as a full time mum dealing full time with pooping babies. What I wonder is: is there a time when you know you are ready for this role?

I got up and with this dream in mind started tidying and cleaning the house up, I wrote a film review and did some food shopping, all these activities to try and erase that dream from my mind, but it is still there. So I tried to figure out how my daily life could be affected with a child next to me. But it's too hard to visualise it. I will have to wait and see. Photo above: Julie, Den Haag, Netherlands, Feb 29. 1994 © Rineke Dijkstra

Two domestic returns: Celentano & Benigni

I haven't seen either the film or the TV programme, but I am pleased to finally see two friendly faces on the Italian media. I hope to see the film at Xmas in Italy. As for the telly show, my dad recently bought a DVD recorder (brilliant purchase) and has been recording for me all the television programmes he reckons interesting, including Celentano's show (nice one). At home I have satellite and digital TV. Still, for some obscure reason, I am unable to watch Italian channels. And, although the Italian television is, together with the Spanish one, the trashest of Europe, I am missing out a lot about my country's pop culture in its positive and negative aspects. So, this is a good opportunity to watch with some delay what 11.5 million viewers have been *enjoying*. I have not heard many critics about the two releases, I know that Benigni's film is the story of a man falling in love with a lady and following her to Baghdad at the outburst of the war... Celentano, famous singer from the '60s/'70s and actor in many Italian comedies in the '80s, used to run some popular music/political programmes in the '90s and then withdrew from the screen until now. He is known for his provokative statements and for his theatrical silences. As soon as I receive the DVD (hopefully next week), I will be able to tell more about the matter. After the semi-flop of Pinocchio, expectations are mounting over Roberto Benigni’s new film, La Tigre e la neve (The Tiger and the Snow), which will go on release (800 copies) in Italian cinemas on 14 October. At the press conference after the showing of the film, the gag-cracking comedian made this intriguing declaration of intent. “My film isn’t feelgood liberal because it’s not ideological. I wanted to go to the heart of the war, which is more dangerous and harder because it forces its way into souls and consciences. The film is ferocious, not feelgood”, he stressed at the end of the press premiere, where La Tigre e la neve was greeted by tepid applause. By Corriere.it The first edition of RockPolitik, the new television show presented by singer Adriano Celentano, was seen by 11.5 million viewers, for an audience share of 47 per cent. During the evening, the star attacked Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi and Fabrizio del Noce, the director of the RAIUno network, which broadcasts the show. by Corriere.it