Oz Art

Eleven days since the last post? Seriously? I’ve been mostly out of town for the last week, but that doesn’t mean nothing’s been going on since I put together that bed (which is still as plain-jane-pine-bed as could be, but I have a plan!).

Last weekend I went to visit Eva on her home turf in New Jersey and we went to a couple flea markets. We didn’t find anything big like furniture, but Eva did spot a very old copy of L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz.

I’ve always loved Oz– like most people, the 1939 film was an enormous part of my childhood. When I was little, I liberated my dad’s 50s edition of the book from my grandparent’s house, but it wasn’t until this year that I actually read the original text in its entirety for a research paper. At the time I bought the HarperCollins 100 year anniversary edition of Oz, which has all the original W.W. Denslow illustrations in full color– and they’re beautiful! And at $17, it’s crazy cheap for such a beautiful book with color on every single one of the 261 pages.

Old on left, new on right

Even though it’s copyright 1903 (the original copyright is 1900), it was actually printed in the 1930s with 8 of the original 24 full-page illustrations in full color. And even though I like the extremely bright colors of my new edition, I really love the richer colors of these 80 year old pages.

The old book isn’t really in the best shape (probably why it was only $30, but I still think it’s likely worth much more), which was sort of perfect. Three of the illustrations had already come loose and were tucked inside the book, so they were basically asking to be framed. I wouldn’t frame something like this just because I like the book, but I think these drawings are so cool because they have these awesome pop colors that seem totally incongruous with the time period they came out of. And I love Oz. That too.

I decided to back them with some plain off-white stationary paper I already had, which has a nicer texture than a regular piece of printer paper. And I like the look of the rough edges, so no matting here.

I got extra lucky that the three illustrations that happened to be detached were also some of my favorites of the book! When Dorothy, the Scarecrow, Toto, and the Tin Woodsman first meet the Cowardly Lion; when the travelers first enlist the help of the mice (a great scene that’s never been adapted in any of the film iterations– they save the Lion from the poppies! How cool is that?); and when they first enter the Emerald City.

I don’t really have a place picked out for them yet– much like 90% of the other art that’s sitting in a pile waiting for the right wall space– but I’m excited about them. And at $45 for the entire project, including $15 for the three RIBBA frames from IKEA, it’s already worth it.

Home Shopping

Do you ever go shopping in your own house (or your parent’s house, as the case may be)? It’s my new favorite thing to do when I’m home. Er, aside from seeing friends and communing with my family and pets, none of whom I see enough of these days. And while my parents won’t just give up and give me that little table in the family room, they are quite generous when it comes to things they aren’t using or items they wouldn’t miss. So imagine my delight when I found this rad poster that they had squirreled away in the basement, sitting in the original shipping tube for the last thirteen years.

Oooh, edgy. The artist is James Rosenquist. If you don’t know about Rosenquist, he was one of the main players of the Pop Art movement of the 60s and continues to produce work today (at age 77, no less). His background as a billboard painter seems to have informed his frequent use of imagery evocative of mid-century advertising, celebrity, and consumer culture. Oh yeah, and his pieces are enormous– according to Wikipedia, he might hold the record for the largest print in the world, 7 x 35 feet. His paintings are fragmented, layered, colorful, and gorgeous. Just do yourself a favor and run a Google Image search or click some of the links above or go see his paintings at any of these museums (including MOMA, New Yorkers!)– you won’t be sorry.

The poster was produced by the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence, an organization that my dad is involved in. So the poster is a convergence of things for me: an artist I love, a message I admire and believe in, and a symbol of my parents’ character– their strong convictions, hard work ethic, and compulsion to get involved and make change happen. And while the imagery is intense, the message is simple and peaceful:

Too true, Jim, too true.

The frame is that old standby, the RIBBA from IKEA. I had the matte custom-cut a couple of days ago at one of those bazillions of custom framing shops for $30 (cheaper, I might add, than that new Michael’s on the West Side).

And I’m so glad it’s UP. One less f-ing piece of art to endlessly hem and haw over where to hang. Maybe it’ll inspire me to just take the plunge and hang everything else I have lying around.

Thanks Mom and Dad!

A Very Eames Birthday

I’ve never been one to develop deep, romantic celebrity crushes—those powerful fantasies often ending in soul-crushing defeat when you realize that the famous apple of your eye is unavailable. Or worse, dead. 7-year-old me is looking at you, Judy Garland.

But I’m in love, so in love. With Charles and Ray Eames. Both of them. As one unit.

I should have seen this coming. A love of every single gorgeous iteration of the shell chair is bound to eventually give way to a broader fascination and respect for their work. I honestly don’t believe there exists a single thing designed by their hands that I don’t love. They were the most brilliant and prolific American designers for 50 some-odd years, and as far as I’m concerned, they still are. Hands down.

But with a great love of their work came a love of the people themselves, and I think their creative output just speaks so nicely to who I imagine them to be as individuals. They’re brilliant, obviously, but they also seem incredibly kind. And fun. Hardworking and a bit silly. Both charming and modest. People who valued their privacy but were generous enough to share their perspective with a world that benefitted from it, knowingly or not.

It was a couple months ago that I discovered their films and started watching them in the NYU library, sitting for an afternoon in front of a little TV on the second floor of Bobst for an afternoon and just working my way through a couple disks every now and again. I knew about the “Powers of Ten,” having seen it a few times in assorted places, but did you know they made roughly 85 films throughout their careers? Some have to do with their designs. Some are historical and informative. Some are just incredibly beautiful little snippets of the world, made ripe for our own appreciation through the added value of theirs.

Much like their furniture, architecture, or toys, the films are at once technically complicated and visually simple. They’re so much fun. Give this mesmerizing snippet a go:

I’ll stop now, since it’s probably better not to even get me started talking about those two. The point is, I love them and I can’t really hide it. My lovely mommy took note of this fact and gifted accordingly when my birthday rolled around a couple months ago. So guess who owns the Eames films box-set? ME, that’s who. Who’s up for a screening party? I make amazing hors d’oeuvres and you can utilize as many “party enhancers” as you’re comfy with, I ain’t here to judge.

And as if that weren’t supercool enough, my loving parents just went and outdid themselves.

The Hang-It-All, designed in 1953, is just one of those things. There aren’t many objects in the world that I consider pleasantly ubiquitous, but that’s sort of how I feel about the Hang-It-All. It’s popular for good reason, like gangster rap or bacon. So I kind of love seeing it everywhere, in all its equal-parts-beautiful-and-quirky glory. For guests it bids a warm, inviting welcome; and after a long day of classes last week, when temperatures dropped down to the mid-it’s-fucking-colds, it was the best place I’ve ever hung my coat and scarf. I just find it overwhelmingly cheerful, and I think that’s what I like about Charles and Ray, too. They—the designs and the people—just put a smile on my face.

Which is just a roundabout way of saying that stuff really does buy happiness. Maybe not, like, constant and eternal joy, but at least moments. I like that about things.

Note: the closely cropped photo of the Hang-It-All is for your own protection, so as not to ruin any mysterious upcoming posts about other new things in the kitchen. Wider angles coming up soon!

God wants me to thrift.

My apartment and I are coming up on our nine month anniversary. NINE MONTHS. How did that happen?  In light of this, I figured I’d finally show some wide-angle shots of my bedroom. I’ve shown a bit here and a bit there with various projects and acquisitions in the past, but it wasn’t until the last week that things really started looking… complete? Until I futz with it some more. In any case, the time has come.

Part of what makes things look good? INSANELY, OUTRAGEOUSLY good thrifting luck recently. Like, of a magnitude that has made me feel both greedy and more than a little obnoxious.  I was going to break these things up into separate posts, but then I just figured it might be better this way. If you are the type of person, as I am, who gets jealous of other people’s maddeningly good deals… think of this like tearing off the band-aid quickly.

George Nelson, you kill me. That big, glorious, UFO-shaped saucer Bubble Lamp (size medium) is something I NEVER would have expected to own… like, anytime soon. It’s one of those things I dream about. But remember a week ago when Anna talked about what she took home from the DWR Annex? Well, this was the baby boo that came home with me. Stupid me forgot to take a “before” picture, but I promise it was in less than perfect condition. It was like it had a big hunchback—wires bent in funny directions and all looking pretty fucked up in general. Evan spotted it first, for which I momentarily hated him intensely. But then he and Anna both decided it looked beyond saving, so they passed. But when I talked the salesperson down to only $65 (down from $99), I just had to go for it. Some very delicate bending, a little wire-finagling, a lot of patience. It’s still not perfect, but it’s pretty damn close. And for over 80% off, pretty damn close is something I can handle.

Anna was a little ticked that she and Evan hadn’t just gone for it since they did have first dibs, according to thrifting etiquette. But, don’t worry, I think I patched things over.

Oh, and what’s that to the right of the bed? A Bertoia Diamond chair? Well, it started as this disgusting thing I schlepped about 8 blocks to my apartment while it was snowing over the weekend, because that’s what crazy people who love chairs do. For an agonizing three seconds I considered somehow trying to salvage the vinyl upholstery. But then I realized it had all the charm of a deflated inner tube anyway.

The frame was a hot mess.

Luckily, Mr. Clean Magic Erasers have the singular ability to renew my faith in man’s inventiveness and ability to overcome all odds of grimy shit.

Things even got a little steamy.

And HOT DAMN. And wanna know something else? $60. Talked down from $89. I hate me too.

My living room is really suffering from how much I’m currently enjoying my bedroom (and therefore just moving everything I love in here) and I’m told the sofa really misses its vintage lucite nesting tables. But I don’t care, because they’re awesome for next to my bed. Oh! And the FADO lamp from IKEA. I love my little orb of light.

So nine months doesn’t seem like a very long time, but then I found this picture I took shortly after I moved in.

Yowza. I guess a lot does happen in nine months.

And the opposite side of the room?

Hot mess.

The one thing that bugs the shit out of me is the 9″ gap between the wall and the wardrobe where I keep the ladder and other assorted tall stuff. I need to figure out how to block that off eventually, but a super skinny curtain just seems weird to me. Hmph, I’ll think of something.

The super warm point blanket (mine’s from Pendelton Woolen Mills) was not thrifted—that was an amazing Chanukah present from my mommy. I love it. Like more than an acceptable amount.

The art above the bed, however, is the most incredible thrift find I have ever, or will ever, be a part of. My mom and I found that together in a thrift store about 10 years ago, and it’s an Alexander Calder litho from 1974. Also $60. Pretty unbelievable. It’s hands down my favorite thing in my apartment, and I finally just let myself put it in my bedroom after feeling like it just should be in the living room for months. Sometimes you just need to let yourself have what you want.

So this is what I’ve learned:

Blank Walls and Big Art

One of the more disturbing aspects (and unflattering angles) of my largely neglected living room is this wall:

Note the floors. Yes, they’re really that slanted. Vertigo victims should probably avoid my apartment.

Back to the wall. It is big and blank and ill-suited to any piece of furniture. Now, I’m not the sort of person who compulsively feels the need to fill every bit of empty space in my apartment with some type of furniture or display. Sometimes, vacant space in a room is just fine. But I can’t help feeling like this wall needs something, and I can’t help wishing that something was a colossal piece of artwork.

Unfortunately Franz Kline and Morris Louis aren’t taking my calls, so I think it’s time to get crafty.

To be clear: I’m not an artist. Yes, as a lonely 12-14 year old I dabbled in the under-appreciated fine art of scrap-booking and I can papier-maché the shit out of a balloon, but I wouldn’t flatter myself with a blank canvas and a fancy supply of painting paraphernalia. I’ll leave that sort of thing to people who think deep thoughts and possess such traits as talent and perspective.

But there’s hope. Possibly for big art, possibly for finally convincing some of you of my substandard taste, possibly for both. Because just a couple weeks ago, I picked up about 300 of these “Language Development” flashcards for only $10 in a junk store. Each one is a little over 6″ x 8″. Here’s a very small, pretty random sample:

The cards above were produced in 1980. But that’s not all! There are also illustrated cards from 1968:

The 60s cards are too kitschy for in here, but I’m pretty stupidly smitten with the 1980 set. They all spawn from the following exciting categories: Food, Colors & Shapes, Clothing, Household Items, Personal Items, Rooms, School Items, Tools & Hardware, Toys, Body Parts, Transportation, and Animals.

So not only can I brush up on my basic nouns, I think I can also create something colorful, fun, and huge once I decide on an engaging way to display them. To add an air of sophistication, I’m thinking of entitling my piece Postmodern Composition Number IV. Throw in a beret and a cigarette and I think we’ve really got something.