Bitchface: The Masterworks

Just a quick note to say that the tumblr blog Bitchface: The Masterworks is just about the best thing ever. I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys bitchfaces and/or art. Check it out.

Festive Street Art: Santa-Hatting the River Nile

In central Copenhagen, at Søtorvet, there’s a bronze copy of the marble statue The River Nile from the 1st century, escavated in 16th century Rome. A bearded man is supposed to represent the river itself, and he is surrounded by 16 infants playing on his body,  symbolizing the number of feet (16) the Nile was believed to rise annually, fertilizing Lower Egypt. There’s a similar statue of The River Tiber situated across the street from the Nile sculpture.

Some street artist must have figured that just because one is tasked with representing the flow of a northeastern African river, one should not have to miss out on the festivity of the season. In any case he or she has carefully created Santa hats to fit the sculptural babies. I just spotted this today and was so charmed that I pulled my bicycle out of very heavy traffic in order to snap a few pictures:

Look!

Adorable!

Thanks for warming my heart as well as the heads of several bronze infants, unknown street artist.

Philip Glass: Geometry of Circles

I saw this for the first time today:

Absolutely mesmerising. Once again I regret that I did not grow up watching Sesame Street which did not air in my country during my childhood years. What a wonderful educational programme, always with a sense of beauty or humour to it.

O Come Let Us Adore Him

Time flies when  you’re busy, and suddenly the advent season is upon us. What better way to celebrate than to revel in the marvel in the freaky-looking, awkward, weirdly propotioned, leering Christ-children and cherubs of the middle ages and the renaissance?

"Uh, ma'am? Ma'am, your child has freakishly long arms for a newborn." says that donkey. From the murals of Fanefjord Church, Denmark.

The Tumblr blog Ugly Renaissance Babies, brought to my attention by Danish blogger Sofisten, makes such revelling easy, featuring the likeness of a new unattractive infant on an almost daily basis.

Enjoy!

“Life is a dance we must learn” – Reviewing The Forsyte Saga

As promised in a recent entry, here’s a separate post about the 2002 adaptation of John Galworthy’s The Forsyte Saga. I watched it just before Christmas and then I brought it back to my parents and ended up watching the whole thing again over Christmas, because my mum wanted to see it, too.

This was no great sacrifice for me – watching the entire series again so soon. I loved the series. Telling the story of the extended Forsyte family from the year 1874 to 1920, The Forsyte Saga recounts a saga of love, marriage, sex, violence, spite, and friendship, all with the tumultuous fin-de-siècle/early-20th-century events as its riveting backdrop. Main character Soames Forsyte (Damian Lewis) marries the beautiful, artistic Irene Heron (Gina McKee), who doesn’t love him. At the same time, Soames’ cousin Jolyon divorces his wife in order to pursue a relationship with his daughter’s governess Helène. This becomes the on-set of a series of events and feuds that come to hold significance for the fate of the family.

Damian Lewis
No expenses seem to have been spared in this mini-series adaptation by ITV from 2002-2003 – it is a piece of quality. This comes through possibly most importantly in the casting of the series which is almost perfect and presents a line of incredible actors. The best of these is, to me, Damian Lewis as Soames. As I’ve declared before I have fallen hopelessly in love with Soames Forsyte, and I am certain that I have Damian Lewis to thank for this. John Galsworthy himself found that while Soames could easily be called the villain of the story, it is hard not to sympathise with him at least a little, and Damian Lewis conveys this beautifully. His Soames is not a “tortured man” like the clichés you find in bad romance stories, and Lewis leaves nothing ambigious in the infamous scene in which Soames rapes his wife. But more than anything he comes across as a pitiful man whose empathical limitations allow him to be caught tragically uncomfortably between two worlds – Victorian England and a new, modern world.

He's not too hard on the eyes either. But that's a different story...

Damian Lewis depicted this conflict so well by way of his brilliantly awkward body language, and also by his absolutly incredible ability to portray an aging man. 31-32 two years of age while the series was being shot, Damian Lewis somehow manages to convincingly embody Soames’ character from being in his late twenties to being a man of sixty-something. The make-up does a lot here of course, but Damian Lewis does most of the work, gradually and very subtly changing his acting as the series progresses.

“Moments are given, then gone”
And I feel that this is the over-all conflict that the series manages to convey so well: This conflict of being caught between two different eras. Focusing mostly on romantic relationships between men and women, the series depicts the marital problems that arose in a time when appearances and reality started to become visibly arbitrary. Irene, married to Soames Forsyte, dances in public at a formal ball with her lover, but at the same time her husband owns her to the point where she is not even free to prosecute him if he violently rapes her. And her lover is her and her husband’s architect of all people; the man who is designing the married couple’s supposed love nest. Soames’ sister Winifred lives in a lovely, but nearly empty house because her husband gambles up all their money. Jolyon lives for many years with his mistress and has two children with her, but can never marry her until his first wife dies.

It’s as if all these characters are caught in a time that they can’t quite keep up with, and the theme is there even in the beautiful and lusciously detailed art direction. The art director has made sure to make clocks play an important part in the cinematography, and the camera focuses not infrequently on pocket watches, grandfather clocks or the dialers of sitting room clocks, their hands moving steadily while an increasing web of lines and wrinkles trace the faces of our bewildered characters.

Teddy Bear-like Jolyon, Statuesque Irene
The other actors deserve mention as well; Rupert Graves is a lovely Jolyon, every bit as kind-looking with his brown eyes as Soames is cold-looking with his icy blue. Yet Graves also leaves room for a teddy bear-like clumsy helplessness that ensures that Jolyon doesn’t become a hero: Good as Jolyon is, he is not a man of action, and revolutionary as his ideals may be, he is still living off of his conservative family’s fortune.

If Jolyon is Soames’ counterpoint then surely his energetic June is the poised Irene’s, and Gillian Kearney plays June’s part beautifully. Quick-tempered yet fair, she never quite captures the hearts of the men in her life, but she easily gains the viewers’ sympathy.

Amanda Root is a wonderful actress and a joy to behold as Winifred, and Lee Williams is pretty and appropriately vague as the indecisive Jon who fails to find the strenght put the family’s problematic past behind him.

The only part of the casting – and the series as a whole – that I wasn’t completely sold on was the casting of Irene. Almost every review of the Forsyte Saga mentions this as a problem and some even state that Gina McKee’s Irene ruined the series for them, because they couldn’t see why all the men would fall in love with her, or that they downright hated Irene in this adaptation. I wouldn’t go that far; I do see where they were going with this particular Irene. Gina McKee fits the aesthetic ideal of the late 19th century with her tall, lean body, her pale skin, narrow face and watery eyes. She rather reminds me of impressionist works like this one:

Paul Gauguin: Portrait of a Young Girl

In that context, it makes sense for the male characters to be smitten with Irene – she’s like a fin-de-siècle cover girl. However, there’s still something missing in McKee’s Irene in order for this to work. McKee’s Irene becomes too much of a picture, I think, and there is not enough life in her. Even before her character is unhappily married to Soames she seems cold and rigid. She’s statuesque, but to the point of inanimity. Irene states several times that she loves to dance, but McKee doesn’t really have a dancers disposition and comes across as gawky and awkward on the dance floor rather than bewitchingly sensual. In her best moments McKee was slightly similar to Gillian Anderson in Bleak House, and I couldn’t help thinking that Anderson might have been a better, more vibrant and sensual choice for Irene’s part.

But as I said, this in no way ruined the series for me. It’s a wonderful series and very recommendable. It’s a document of a time in history that changed our entire culture, and it’s a moving, timeless story of the difficulties of love and marriage.

Overheard at the Public Library

I was having a bad day today. No particular reason, really – I actually had an oral exam today, thus completing a project management course I’ve been taking, and I even did quite well at it. But I was in a lousy mood  all the same, and then I got hit by a car. I’m alright, nothing happened, the driver was ok, too, and was really nice and apologetic about it, but still. Hit by a freakin’ car. That’s a bad day, right there.

Anyway, when I was hit by that car I was on my way to the public library, and I’m glad I went, because I had an experience that really brightened my day and basically made it worth it to have been hit by that car. It started when my eyes were caught by the cover of a book that the librarians had, for reasons beyond me, put on display. The book was this:

(VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED! RACY COVER ART AHOY!)

(NO, SERIOUSLY, IF YOU’RE NOT YET 18 OR JUST REALLY SENSITIVE, STOP SCROLLING.  THERE BE SEMI-VISIBLE NIPPLES AND STUFF.)

(OKAY, BUT I DID WARN YOU)

“Werewolf in a Thong”, the title reads, in Danish. Werewolf. In a thong.

This would have been enough to make my day, in and of itself. Clearly this cover is worthy of a Judge a Book entry, and I was delighted to see someone within the New Gothic Fiction Industry who seems to acknowledge that, yes, they’re basically just writing porn there. Vampire and werewolf porn, yes, but essentially porn. Like, “Yeah, we know that some readers appreciate the fact that we reference and imitate a certain literary genre that dates back to the 18th century. But we also realise that most of our readers are just waiting for that vampire to take off his shirt and get freaky”.

But then it got even better, because scarcely had I moved on from admiring this amazing piece of cover art, before I heard the following conversation behind me:

Five-or-six-year-old boy: “Mummy, what’s that?”
Mother: “Um, it’s… It’s a werewolf.”
Five-or-six-year-old boy: “Ah, ok. So, the body is human, and…” *voice trembling with delight* “Butt-cheeks!!”
Mother: “Yes. But we have to go pick up that book now, the library’s closing in ten minutes.” *starts to drag off boy*
Five-or-six-year-old boy: “But I want to look at butt-cheeks!!”
Mother: “No, we have to-”
Five-or-six-year-old: “Butt-cheeks!!!“
Mother: *sigh* “Ok, fine. Tell you what: I‘ll go loan my book. And you can stay here, and you can look at the butt-cheeks.”

Awesome.

Euphemism

I love my blog stats. And I have to say that I find it completely adorable that someone found my blog by googling the words “Ladies with no clothes on at all”. I imagine that this person really wanted to type in “naked chickzz” or something like that, but then at the last minute he or she decided that that was too crude, and went with “Ladies with no clothes on”. But then he or she just really, really wanted to emphasise the nude aspect of it, and thus added the “at all”.

I’m almost kind of sad to think how disappointed this person must have been with what he/she found here. I believe that the only ladies with no clothes on at all I have ever featured are Bernini’s Proserpine and Rembrandt’s Susanna.

“Look, Madicken, it’s Snowing!”

Not to be repetitive or anything, but would you look at the picture that I’ve just made my blog header image for December?

It’s an illustration by the legendary Ilon Wikland from (also legendary) Astrid Lindgren’s children’s book Titta, Madicken, det snöar (“Look, Madicken, it’s snowing!”) which was my favourite Christmas book when I was little. The illustration shows the main character of the book, Madicken’s little sister Lisabet, glumly and enviously looking on as Gustav, a little boy she knows, gets to ride on the back of a sleigh and taunts her in the process, but I think the picture is such a perfect little work of art that it works, even if you don’t know the story. The look of crestfallenness in Lisabet’s posture; her arms hanging dejectedly down her sides, her little booted feet in the snow, her full cheeks that betray a defiant pout. Versus Gustav’s triumphant, scornful mien, and the robust body of the horse, making its way through the falling snow. Absolutely lovely.

“I Am a Bricklayer” – Carl Th. Dreyer’s Ordet and the Character of Johannes

Last night I went to see my very first Carl Th. Dreyer film, namely Ordet (“The Word”). I’ve been eager to see a Dreyer film for years; so many film directors, Lars von Trier for instance, claim to be inspired by Dreyer, and he is always mentioned among the great masters of cinema, even internationally. Once I actually came very close to seeing his Day of Wrath. I happened upon it at Blockbuster and couldn’t believe my luck, so I tried to rent it, but the girl behind the counter regretted to inform me that the tape (this being back in the stone age, before DVDs had taken over the market) had gone missing. Instead, I rented a video called Comedy Zoo featuring a series of stand up routines from 1997. The girl behind the counter commended me on this decision. “I think that’s a much better choice than that sad, old thing you first tried to rent.” she said.

So my Dreyer virginity was not taken until just last night with Ordet. I have to say, though, that it was a rather bizarre experience. Intense, yes, but bizarre. I think it was the overt religious theme of the movie that freaked me out a little. I mean, it wasn’t even religious in the Seventh Seal existentialist kind of way, it was more in the sense of “GOD IS HERE!HE EXISTS!!1! ACKNOWLEDGE HIM!!!!1!”. And why would this freak me out? I’m not sure. I’m a fairly devout Lutheran myself. And I knew that the movie script was a play written by Lutheran minister Kaj Munk, so I don’t know how it managed to surprise me that there would be a religious theme in the film. I guess the whole thing was just a little overwhelming and will need to let it sink in. I’m not sure what to make of it just yet.

Still from Ordet

That said, there was one part of the movie that was immediately appealing to me: The character of Johannes Borgen. For those of you not familiar with the film, Johannes is the central character in the story. He is the son of farmer Morten Borgen, who encouraged his charismatic son to study theology, hoping that he would be able to spread the word of the Lutheran church in their local society which is becoming increasingly dominated by fundamentalists. However, Johannes seemingly suffers a mental break-down during his studies and becomes convinced that he is Jesus Christ himself.

The part is played by Preben Leerdorf Rye, which is an absolutely brilliant casting on Dreyer’s part. Leerdorf Rye has the strangest personality and really draws you in with his big, sparkling and round eyes underneath his neat centre parting. His movements are strangely slow and almost ghostly or zombie-like. And infamous in Danish cinema for his rather odd diction (I grew up with my father’s impersonations of his voice), Leerdorf Rye gives the voice of Johannes a strange, almost musically intoning and admonitory sound that is absolutely perfect for this character who lingers dangerously somewhere between the physical and the metaphysical.

Leerdorf Rye simply seems off, perfectly so, and this becomes most startlingly apparently in his relationship with the rest of the characters – or, rather, his lack of same. Because part of what makes Leerdorf Rye’s Johannes so captivating is the way he interacts with the other characters, yet never seems to react to them. His eerily slow movements and his thundering voice stay the same in the face of his frustrated surroundings who, frightened by his behaviour, turn a deaf ear to his preachings.

A good example is this scene, in which the new town minister pays the Borgen family a visit and is met by Johannes:

It’s the tension between Johannes’ presence and lack of presence in his surroundings that fascinates me about this scene. “Pick up the scraps so that nothing goes to waste,”, Johannes solemnly preaches to himself, but he demonstrates his sombre words by picking up a left-over cookie. Similarly, Johannes seems lost in his thoughts, but he still has the presence of mind to reply “Come in” (in the exact same intonation that he just used for preaching!) as the minister knocks on the door. Filled with a divine power, Johannes dwells ambiguously between this world and another throughout the movie.

The result is… well, I don’t know exactly what the result is. I still don’t know exactly what to make of the movie. But whatever Dreyer wished to achieve with this ambiguous Jesus figure of his, the casting of Preben Leerdorf Rye makes for one of the most effective and haunting movie characters I have ever seen.

Olaf Rude “Skejten” at Fuglsang Museum of Art

Last week The Boyfriend and I went to visit his parents who live in the southern part of Denmark, and we all made a trip to see the Fuglsang Museum of Art at Lolland, Denmark, which re-opened just last year in a new building by English architect Tony Fretton. I’d read an interview with Fretton about the building, in which he said some very interesting things about the architectural challenges that the flat Lolland landscape offered, so I was excited to see the place, and I wasn’t disappointed. The building blended in superbly with its surrounding and set them off beautifully – particularly breathtaking was one particular wing of the museum, the house end of which was constructed as one big window, presenting the view of a Lolland field stretching out before you. The building alone is definitely worth a visit if you should ever find yourself near Lolland!

But the art collection was also excellent. One piece that particularly stood out to me was Olaf Rude’s painting Skejten, and I thought I would post it here:

The painting shows Skejten, an area in the vicinity of Fuglsang where Rude grew up. I always feel self-conscious when I’m to describe a painting since this is not really my field of expertise, so I won’t say a lot about it. Other than the fact that to me it’s really an example of a landscape painting that sums up a particular emotion or state of mind more than simply reproducing a landscape. I find the sense of gravity and perhaps melancholy displayed in the painting to be startling. The group of trees in the center of the picture have a remarkable heaviness to them which is emphasized by their reflection, painted in slightly darker colours, in the stream in the foreground, the massive tree taking up the space to the the right, and the textural effect of the artist’s technique – broad, vertical strokes.

This sense of gravity really spoke to me that day, to the point where I could almost feel the heaviness and melancholy within me, like a knot tying up in my guts, and I was so moved by the painting that it’s been my desktop background for the past week.  I don’t know if the piece will have the same effect on you at all, but I thought I’d take the chance and share it with you in any case.

* Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the painting – I merely found it online. If I am violating any copyrights by displaying the painting here, let me know, and I will of course remove the picture immediately.