Our journey continues
If you follow this link to the Yves Klein Archives you can watch “Yves Klein realisant des peintures de feu,” a 1961 film of Klein with a blowtorch and a fireman with a hose together committing the violent act (as Klein would have it) of making a painting. I wish there were sound. There are images of the burned paintings and they are beautiful! And wonderfully sexy.
I admit to a huge, yawning ignorance when it comes to the work of Yves Klein. Looking around the Archive is eye-popping. I’m going to pleasure myself by uploading a few more images. A caution here – do understand that the references to Klein in John Rasmussen’s catalog cover less than a page – if packed together – in a 63 page book. To the extent that I act as an interpreter, I do so knowing that I may misunderstand the original and will mislead by translating. Also that I find meaning – what I therefore choose to translate – in places of breakage. I do suggest that you buy the book. http://www.midwayart.org/publications.php
And on this page you will find a short film titled “Bas-relief dans une foret eponges.”
We drove into Morro Bay on Hwy 46. We joined this road turning off of Shell Creek west of the James Dean Memorial, a 1970s looking steel public sculpture dedicated to Dean by a Japanese immigrant business man. He leased the land from the Hearst family, built the memorial and also a road house burger joint. Jack Ranch Cafe on Yelp. One time in summer 2010 we were all there, chatting. It was afternoon, and windy from the highway. Large-format vehicles were parked willy nilly around the dirt lot. A young man wanted desperately to have his picture taken in front of the monument, but we were wandering in his way. He became impatient to the point of anger. An electricity of violence was in the air. He hated us for getting in the way of his communion with James Dean. It seemed a little intense for our calm, enjoyable afternoon and we departed. A roar of middle age large c0uples on also large motor bikes sprayed gravel as they left the highway. They propped their bruisers in a shaky row and joined the young couple’s ceremony.
Morro Bay was introduced to us as “the Central Valley Riviera.” It has the famous rock, and dunes along the beach. Also an electric plant,with tall smokestacks. This is such an anachronistic hold-over from another time that it is almost beautiful. In some fashion, the stacks appear two dimensional against the sky. It’s eerie to see a huge postcard of a power plant next to the rock and the ocean. The feeling reminds me of being 14 and smoking weed for the first time – before I figured out how to correct for stoned-ness and see things normally. What a waste this skill was! Pot was never the same. Now smokestacks do the trick!
About now I need a sound track. Um, this song is one of several rock music songs that were popular when I was in grade school. I hated them all. A substitute teacher once made the mistake of choosing to play records for us one day when it was raining and we couldn’t go outside on recess. Being who I was, I protested. “This music is not appropriate for us. We are children.” I said, with emphasis expressing my indignation. I think the teacher may have put it to vote – to which I also protested on the grounds that we were children and in this case couldn’t possibly “know what was good for us.” I did spend the remainder of that recess in the coat closet, reading. I think a few friends joined me. (I was pretty charismatic in my passions, even then.) On my way to lunch that noon I stopped in the administration building and asked to see the Principal, to whom I made a formal complaint against my teacher’s inappropriate behavior. Joy To The World, All You Boys and Girls. What tripe.
The green of the Marlboro add in that last image brought “Jeremiah was a bullfrog” to my mind and the whole “joyous-buy-me-now-and-why-not -buy-my-friend-too” feeling in the graphics has the same seemingly mindless but terrifyingly well crafted, let’s all feel good, brain-washy aspect that popular culture has. Civilisations die on this stuff, I don’t care how much one re-purposes it into art. Using such semiotic tools ironically is still taking part in the conversation. Irony doesn’t protect you.
Links to the entire “Guyton/Walker Failever Over New Year” series:
Our journey continues
Something(s) I Learned Today (including more re: G and W)