Whatever You Say Freud, But Art is a Deliberate Act. A Studio Visit with Koo Jeong A

Koo, deep in her thoughts, was carefully forming sentences to explain the origin of the magnet presented in her work.  With sincerity and conviction, she described her first encounter with medicinal magnet and the impact it had on her as a patient and as an artist.  Further conversations with people from various fields confirmed that although magnet and its effect were all around us, it was seldom given a throughout examination.

Koo reads Financial Times to keep up with what’s happening in the wider world.

“Would you like to sit down?”  Koo inquired during the middle of her talk.  She looked around her studio, which was bare and tidy with stacks of wooden boxes containing her work to be shipped soon to Berlin’s König Galerie for her upcoming show on the 24th November.  One thing I noticed about Koo is that she was able to pick up nonverbal cues and be sensitive of others’ need.  A trait she was born with or perhaps she acquired through many years of living abroad, mainly Paris and London; through speaking the unfamiliar languages and through living in different cultures. 

Koo asked me not to post her work. So I’m posting her handy tool here. Koo’s installation often contains everyday objects.

She opened a couple of boxes, placed a painting on an electrical outlet.  The painting was painted with magnet imbued paint.  Magnet nuggets were positioned on the edge of the paintings with care.  Koo moved them around, told us how the viewers could potentially interact with the art work and become a part of the art.  When Koo moved on to explain another painting, I moved the largest piece of irregular shaped nugget from the edge of lower left corner to the centre.  Koo saw.  She casually and slowly walked back, while was still speaking, gently and deliberately placing the nugget back to its precise location two minutes ago.    

Somerset House Studio

Don’t tell me to close my eyes and let go. The Chubby Cloud experience.

When I vowed to write about current events, I meant it.  When that current event turned into a past event and is still not finished, I own it.  Although long overdue, after prolonged period of distilling and pondering, I’m finally writing again!  (Frankly, who gives a fuck when/what/how I write or not write?  I’m not Elon Musk).

 A mindfulness exercise hosted by Anya Hindmarch; on a giant bean bag, a “recyclable” bean bag, in the heavenly surroundings of the Banqueting House.  First order of business, put on the Oompa Loompa overalls.  We were then reminded that nothing was allowed inside the hall, except for your phones (#chubbycloud).

 “Close your eyes… breath in… breath out… let go of the negatives… “ (in a loop for the next half an hour). 

I was there, lying down, eyes wide open, studying Rubens’s ceiling at the Banqueting House.  I peeped around, everyone was following the instructions, concentrating on being mindful.  I, on the other hand, was wondering when can I make a move to the other side of the giant bean bag so I can see the other panels. 

These panels were all painted in Rubens’s workshop in Antwerp then sent to London.  So no, Rubens didn’t risk cramping his neck standing on a 67 feet tall scaffolding (ceiling to ground is about 72 feet) composing these masterpieces.  He also let his assistants and students painted the less important parts. 

While I was there, mind wondered from Rubens to Charles I, who commissioned the work and got his head chopped off (separate incidents); then to Charles II, once the King of England, then suddenly Charles II, the hen from the Menagerie Horton, popped into my head.  It’s amazing how your mind wonders when you’re not concentrating on being mindful!

Poppy’s voice drifted in and out, still on the same loop from the beginning.  I preferred it tuned out, since the messages were superficial and disconnecting.  “Dig deeper girl!  You are selling the app to the masses, but your messages don’t have to be generic and bland!” 

The experience was soon over with classical music blasting. We were ushered into the café.  All kind of sweet treats for you to consume and get high on loaded sugar.  And don’t forget the gift shop! An £895 Anya Hindmarch handbag to take your mind off mindfulness and send you right back to this wonderful Capitalist society.

Holding on to the Strokes, but sometimes you’ve got to cut the cord and move on alone.

Albert Hammond Jr. walked out in a shiny silver/bronze suit, swirling his mic, tangled himself with the cord.  Sometimes, an almost full bridge back bend or a sudden drop to the knee deep V bend, Albert looked ready to bring all the fun and zest to his fans.  

Friday night, the Electric Ballroom was buzzing, fans were bobbing along to the tunes of Francis Trouble.  A deeply personal record that asks the question of what if?  What if Francis, the stillborn of Albert’s twin had survived?  What if the Strokes went supernova and the band AHJ never existed?  It’s a record that questioning one’s identity and life path; at the same time, it’s also a record with nostalgic sentiment of one’s youth.  Most of the fans didn’t share that nostalgic sentiment yet, but they did feel that they were born too late, missed the party where the Strokes were at their most amazing.  One young fan said “What I really want is to see the Strokes live for just once.”  “Well, now you get to see them separately.” I grinned.     

Second time seeing AHJ live, the first was at Academy Brixton back in February, he was opening for Franz Ferdinand.  But this time I was closer to the stage.  Every time Albert came down, seemed to want to embrace us yet always kept his distance, I regretted that my arm wasn’t long enough.  The almost moments quickly accumulated and that almost killed me. 

Albert put together an awesome set, started off with Dvsl, which met with screams and cued us to start messing about!  The light-hearted sleek tune quickly gave way to a more familiar New York indie guitar hooks with Rude Customer.  The stage was incredibly dark, I wondered whether that was one of the tactics to use to deter fans from taking photographs or videos.  A subtle nudge reminder to enjoy the moment. 

Set to Attack came on, Albert said in an interview that it is “a triumphant song about the lust for life you have in your youth”. We jumped like jelly beans and raised our hands sang along “Hold on! Hold on!”  The tighter you try to grasp the moment, the faster the moment slips away. 

My enjoyment was almost ruined when this guy who was obviously high, kept pushing me away, trying to cut through to the front.  I pushed him back, elbowed him to no avail.  A girl next to me finally had it, yelled at him “Stop touching her!” she then put her arm around me to put up a fence.  The guy backed away for a second. 

Towards the end, my neighbours helped me claimed a spot at the front railing, blocking the guy.  It was then Albert came down the stage and decided to stand in front of me.  I hugged him naturally, hugged his waist tight.  His tall frame made me feel like a child.  His red shirt was soaked through, his fuzzy hair dripping down sweats, I didn’t mind, I grasped the moment. 

Vanity Gives You Aching Feet - Metronomy, Somerset House Summer Series

“The fact that you agreed to have dinner beforehand tells me... you don’t really care too much about this band.”  “What are you talking about!  Sometimes I just want to relax and enjoy the night.”  I sipped my perfectly chilled Bellini.  My friend chuckled. 

Caught the tube to Temple.  It was our first to see a concert at Somerset House.  I was wearing a pair of dark navy blue wedge sandals from A.P.C.  Taller with better view, I felt great, but my feet ached.  "Why are you wearing heels to gig?" "Because... it's brand new from Paris and I really want to show you!  I also want to be taller and see all!"  My friend gave me a let's-see-how-that-will-work-out look.  I was optimistic.  I sat down and chilled.  "With frequent rest, I can get through this three hours gig no problem at all!" 

I should have worn Converse? Hey look at my jumpsuit pattern!

Had a drink, chatted for a good hour, the supporting act was on stage.  I didn't like the songs.  My friend reminded me to concentrate on his abs (he took off his shirt shortly on stage, probably wanted to distract us).  Abs gave me strength, time passed quicker, Metronomy was on stage.  

The most polite band - Metronomy

“It’s a pleasure to be out in the capital city where it’s muggy and warm and not wet and everyone feels good”, Joseph said softly.  "Back Together" kicked off the Summer 18, one of my favourites from the 2016 released of "Summer 08".  I loved when the song reached the climax at the end "... and even when I'm low on time I swear, I'll spend it with you boy ..."  Joseph's falsetto coupled with the cheery synth, ensuring the euphoric moment rippled.     

Wonky shot of the audience. An ecstatic fan in the crowd (lower left corner) .

The Look

Day turned to night.  The party continued.  By the time "The Look" came on, I have already took off my heels a couple of times.  My feet felt like they were hammered then eaten by ants.  I was annoyed with myself.  I should’ve worn Converse (but then I would be buried by the audience and wouldn't be able to see a damn thing).  Oh the trade off, it's a pain, literally.  

The night must end but the feelings will last! Come back soon! <3 <3 <3

Encore were my absolute favourites:  Love's Not an Obstacle, Everything Goes My Way, and Radio Ladio.  I have a habit of listening to one song on repeat for days.  "Love's Not an Obstacle" was that song when I was muddling with a faint memory of a man.

We sang aloud "R-A-D-I-OOOOOOO~" The electro-synth of "Radio Ladio" brought the mood to a new high.  Despite my crippling condition, I still danced and jumped (oooouch!)  Even when I was experiencing extreme pain and joy at the same time, I still managed to spot Joseph's kids who were at the corner of the stage with big ear muffs.  I wondered what went through their minds when they were seeing their dad on stage performing?  

Metronomy waved good night and exited the stage.  The concert ended but the night was still young.  We were discussing where to go after, since a dry summer night with a mood like this shouldn't go wasted.    

Winging it in Paris

Saturday morning, the sun was out but not yet biting down hard.  I was at Jardin du Palais Royal under the tree shades chilling out in front of ... a fountain.  I hesitated to call it a fountain because it looked unremarkable: a couple of tubes shooting out water? 

People sat in a singular circle along the fountain, separated by an invisible line dividing the fountain into two halves: the shaded and the sunned.  I was on my way to Saint-Germain-des-Prés, thought to stop at a café but decided to walk further, thus settled in the shaded side of the fountain.  On my right, a man was engrossing in his newspaper.  On my left, a father and daughter pair; the daughter played on the iPhone while the dad enjoyed some quiet time.  No one seemed hurry to go anyway or do anything.  So I stayed, until the sun rays slowly crept into my shades.

Took a photo of a gallery on Rue Bonaparte.  The gallery manager spotted me and came out to invite me in.  We ended up chatting for a good half an hour about Gursky, arts, our backgrounds and the upcoming Brussels Gallery Weekend.  He spoke good English.  Later I complimented another man for speaking good English, he sarcastically said to me that’s because although he grew up in Paris, he is not French. “They don’t try hard, because they think they are French already.”

“Lunch? Where you at?” My cousin finally woke up.  I looked up then texted him the first brasserie I saw. “Ok.”  There was only one thing to do today.  Eat brunch.  A very long (could be longer but there was no air-con nor breeze), accompanied by many glasses of wine, downed with animated conversation (we were mostly wiping away sweats and whining about the lack of air-con), alongside my favourite cousin Max (debatable), and fabulous Katie. 

A cheese burger! Are you serious? Having a Stormtrooper tattoo doesn't give you immunity to commit food sin in Paris.

We went to Shakespeare and Company afterwards.  I braved the sauna-like condition ventured inside and bought a book: Inside a Pearl.  Edmund White’s Paris memoir.  We then wandered to Île Saint-Louis for sorbets at Bathillon.  Walked passed Notre Dame.  We didn't stop.  At that temperature, sorbet tops all. 

Jesse and Celine. If you don't know the reference, you've missed out.

Licking the last bit of sorbet off my cone, we all had enough, it’s time to get in a taxi and enjoyed some air conditioning!  Ten minutes later, finally saw a taxi with green lights.  Katie said: ”It looks like it's going to turn right!”  We hurried across to the right, readied to hail it down, but it drove straight ahead!  I laughed.  Max smoked.  Katie was working on getting an Uber.

Uber came, we popped in.  The driver was very environmentally conscious so all windows were down and no air-con.  Traffic was atrocious.  We hopped out after ten minutes.  “Now what?”  I asked.  Max smoked.  Katie was working out how to take the metro/bus.  Sensing the pattern here?  Only one person in the group had a brain. 

We watched French against Argentina.  Max had a personal stake in French winning and he generously promised to paypal me a cut.  4-3!  We cheered and went out on to the street.  Music was blasting; the PRIDE parade was in full swing; we danced silly with the crowd.

Down the Rabbit Hole with Jack White

The day is here.  Ever since I went to Jack White's gig at the Garage in March, I’ve been most patiently awaiting for another chance to experience it again.

This time at Eventim Apollo.  A much larger venue hence more people.  As usual, I strategised but didn’t overkill (oh man was I sorry for not going all in).  I went in the queue at four o'clock sharp, the line already snaked around a few bends.  My heart sank.  "Probably not going to be front and centre, maybe second row? " I started counting all the heads in front of me, since I had plenty of time on my hands till the door opened at seven.

Rabbit head stripper tee-shirt.

The afternoon sun was beating down on us fans.  I was wearing a child size, the White Stripes's “We’re going to be friends” tee-shirt, with “Who’s with me?” button on my straw hat.  Brought a book but it was impossible to read under the glaring sun, so I indulged in my favourite pastime: people watching.  That gave way to tee-shirts envy and shoes envy.

These are a few of my favourite shoes.

Friend came, we obediently placed our phones in the pouches (it’s a phone free event, I think all concerts should enforce it).  Here we went!  I told my friend to aim at the left-hand side of the stage!  “Why?” She asked while we were walking fast (“you can’t run”, a security guard said).  “Jack will definitely play around Carla, and the drums set is on the left-hand side!”  My friend laughed “Only you would know these things!”

I was right on the money!  We were second row on the left-hand side facing the stage, with Carla the awesome drummer right in front of us.  Jack on guitar would often come to this part of the stage and they would lock eyes, giving out cues to play off each other, the musical chemistry was electric!

Jack made us wait, for a very long time.  The giant screen on stage showed pre-recorded teasers with Jack kept popping in and out doing various tasks: typing on a Royal typewriter; peeping at us audience for two seconds; fiddling with the countdown clock.  Faint Burtonesque.  The audience screamed when Jack's finger moved the timer closer to zero, sighed when it got turned back.  I moaned because "why the hell is this taking so damn long! Give me music already!" 

After a decade, Jack started off with Sixteen Saltines.  It was great that no glaring screens were over my head and blocking the stage!  The audience were a lot gentler on our side of the stage.  I saw people at the centre crowd surfed then got dragged off by security guards.  I was happy to hear “I Cut Like a Buffalo” then “Ball and Biscuit” (the name of this blog was inspired by listening to this singular song on repeat for a week in Rome).  When I thought this setlist couldn’t get any better, I heard “Freedom at 21” and “That Black Bat Licorice.”   

When the predictable “Seven Nation Army” came up, I felt tightening at the waist, someone's arm wrapped around me then shoved me to the front railing.  Elsa, the blond girl who I had a conversation with during the wait, tilted her head and winked at me.  It was exhilarating.   

Seeing things differently: Wander through artists’ studios

Nothing makes me happier to go snooping around in an artist’s studio!

Upon entering, I gleed with curiosity while looking at the floor to ceiling of boxes, shelves, baskets, and drawers.  To a point that I kind of wanted to say: “Right, could you all just leave me here alone for a while.” 

Marie Kondo's dream or nightmare? 

Body parts for bats.

The wooden drawers were labelled “ears”, “body parts”, “face”, “claws and tendrils”.  "Deliciously Dexter like."  I thought.  But, of course, they were for constructing bats from dehydrated banana peels.  Not bloody body parts.  

Douglas White is a sculptor who reinvents the mundane.  He is that sort of person who would pick up any old rubbish from the ground, stare at it, play with it, experiment on it, then appropriately turn it into something familiar yet original.  Take the greyish blue wrinkled skin on the table.  Doug folded clay in such a way that it uncannily resembles the texture of a piece of elephant skin.   I touched it, but without actually touching an elephant, I couldn’t tell the difference.  

 A piece of elephant skin using clay and wires.  

Part of Nika's new work.  All will reveal in Brussels Gallery Weekend September 6 - 9, 2018

At the other end, Nika Neelova was working on her upcoming solo exhibition.  There were clay tentacles hung from the wall that will form part of her new work.  “They look like umbilical cords.”  “Maybe it’s mine!”  Nika said as a new parent.  

Moving away from grand sculptural installations, with their theatrical industrial look and feel, Nika's new work seemed tame.  “I work at a smaller scale now, having been through the pain of installing my old work for exhibitions.” 

Nika was precised in her philosophy behind her work.  She talked about Rhizome (Mille Plateaux), and how her ideas evolved and morphed and distilled into her work.   

A church was the next destination.  We walked through the narrow ‘70s corridor completed with window shutters to come to Guy Patton’s studio.  It was gloriously messy with splash of paints, paint tubes, bamboos, and a pair of curiously hanging ping pong paddles behind the door.  I must annoyed the hell out of Guy because I wanted to know more about his ping pong pastime.   

What's on the creative mind while playing ping pong? 

Guy's large-scale acrylic paintings are recorders of his creative process.  A reverse creative process in which Guy peels the paints off!  The result?  Exuberance.  Reminded me of my childhood trouble when I started peeling wall paper off our apartment wall.  I couldn't stop.  My mother was mad.     

Eye on the Ball - Phoenix at All Points East

A giant eyeball.  That’s the ball that was released upon us festival goers at All Points East during Phoenix’s performance.  It bounced around us, screwed up our photo/video taking efforts.  People looked up, freed up a hand to lift it higher, pushed it away. 

Although a fan of Phoenix, I wasn’t planning on seeing them at All Points East.  The original plan was to glue myself onto the front rail of the main stage, then wait to see Yeah Yeah Yeahs and LCD Soundsystem; but I got to Victoria Park early so I decided to check out the North Stage first. 

A Montreal duo, Chromeo, was on the stage. Their songs were very danceable electro-funk which put a smile on my face. “Hey! Unexpected find!” I nodded and started getting into the groove.  A woman stood behind me was all business talking to her friend: “Okay, we have to leave here at seven, loo break, maybe a drink or two, go to Yeah Yeah Yeahs, come back for a bit of Phoenix, then leave at nine o’clock sharp! Wriggle our way to the front for LCD Soundsystem.”  I thought that sounded like a well thought out plan!  Follow her lead then it’s all good!  I would get to see every band! And a loo break and a drink!

But sometimes in life you just have got to make a choice.  After Chromeo left, it seemed everyone left with them, leaving plastic cups on the green patch (one of the things that I hate about festivals).  A couple of diehard fans congregated near the front waiting for the next act. The normally jam-packed-to-the-brim front railing was mostly deserted.  A chance to be front row and centre for Phoenix! My eyes widened.  "Should I stay? Should I stick with my original plan and head for the East Stage?  What happen if I abandon post here and head to the East then find myself stuck behind some tall dudes?  Then I will be losing both front spots!  What about my friend who is coming after work? Would she be cool with me changing the plan?"  Those thoughts were like emergency lightbulbs that kept lighting up all over in my head.  Thankfully while I continued to ponder, my feet knew exactly what to do and were heading right to the very front and centre.

“I’m gonna stick around here at North Stage.  Am front and centre, don’t want to lose the spot!”  I texted my friend.  Ten minutes were like eons in texting.  She texted back eventually. “Okay, at the bar, getting gin and tonic then to you.” “Double that please~~~” I gleed.

The crew were setting up and sound testing on stage.  We were chatting with neighbours, eating their fries and sipping gins.  Every now and then, the fear of other-side-is-having-way-more-fun set in; I wondered about Karen O’s costume and how Nick would jam that guitar; every time when I heard loud cheering, I thought, that’s just great!  I picked the wrong stage!

It turned out, it really didn’t matter.  As soon as Phoenix went on stage, we went wild.  People pushed forward, my body was pushed against the cold railing, not someone’s sweaty backside, this alone made me happy.  I sang alone, danced to the best of my ability giving the tight spot I was in, shouted something at Deck, blew a kiss to Christian (he kept staring so might as well XD).  After an hour, no one seemed to want to let the Phoenix boys leave.  Thomas was holding the microphone and messing with his already messy hair.  He seemed to be moved at the sight of the crowd.  He dangled one foot outside the stage to tease us, then he jumped!  On to a stair then headed my way!!!!  I held his hand for a few seconds, pretended to help him got on to the railing (cough).  At that time, I already chucked my phone in my jean’s back pocket and was fully committed to the moment.  

The crowd left fairly quickly after Phoenix was gone.  I didn’t rush to the East Stage, I danced and walked.  The sun was setting, Festoon lights were on, you could smell summer and feel the music vibing.  I saw James Murphy’s head appeared on the giant screens.  My friend asked: ”Push through to the front?”  I shook my head: “Let’s go get another drink then find something to eat.  I hear music here just fine.”