The Purple of Royalty, or, Tradition and Sabotage

I just finished seeing the 2018 Alexander McQueen documentary. Each night was sold out when it opened, here.

Jesus fucking christ.

McQueen is someone I have painted before. He is someone who has inspired me in his strength of personality and pure obsessive, emotive creativity. His flamboyance. Parts of his vision.  Even the ones seemed more controversial. (I have to admit that I didn't agree with the critics about his Highlander Rape show.  I thought it was fucking bomb and that all of the women looked like bad asses that have just walked through nails and fire.)

I had no idea that one of his plans was to kill himself on stage at what he had decided would be his last show. I only knew that when he did kill himself, it was at home on the eve of his mother's funeral.

The shows, in particular, that struck me - and that there's way more footage of in the film- was the Spring/Summer 2001 show, Voss, (the one rooted in a concept of an asylum, but also involving a recreation of one of Joel Peter Witkins' photographs at the end).  Although this show is online, I would watch the footage in the film first because of sound. The ones online either have no sound, or have just music.  In the film, not only do you get more of an idea of the experience of the audience (via the two way mirrors), but the sound of one particular dress - which has weighted, almost flattened test-tube like plates on it- is incredible.  The model runs her hands up the dress and destroys some of them and the sound is just fucking amazing.


There's more to say to this. About him, his work, his death, his life.  But, for now, I want to sit with this film a bit. Let it digest and unfurl.


Be well; be loved,

k.



(image: from a collection of McQueen's. They represent gazelle horns. He had likened himself to the gazelle, but the aspect of which I'll leave to you to learn about in the documentary if you watch it.)
(title: (the second part) A person in the film briefly described the allure of the mixing of tradition and sabotage, and I was immediately enamored with the pairing/phrasing.)

Delectable

It feels like an almost perfect Sunday.

I'm typing this on my couch in little shorts and my most comfortable t-shirt, in front of my fireplace. The house is clean, the floor smells slightly of citrus. I have tall candles in front of the fireplace lit with flames, and I have the patio door sliding door open to let in the smell of the cold autumn that is brewing outside.  A few feet away from me, the dishwasher hums and gurgles, preparing the settings for next week.

To my left, on a yellow end table, there is cup of raspberry tea (hot) and a perfectly sized piece of chocolate cake. I have been eating the cake with a steak knife as all of my forks are in the dishwasher.  The knife stands stabbed into the center of the slice as I type this.

I had finished my week's worth of homework and papers six hours ahead of the deadline and decided to celebrate. I didn't feel like company this evening and so, instead, went for a long walk and to the grocery store. It feels good. All of it. Especially the ache in my legs.

I keep cold cans of the flavored carbonated water she drinks in my refrigerator, only slightly different than the kind she seemed to favor.  A different brand.  A different fruit. It's not in a wait for her return, but rather, something to remember her by.  A functional tribute of sorts. I am down to the last few tablespoons of the olive oil. I'll need something less hers to continue the march.



Be well; be loved,

k. 

(image: Robert Maplethorpe in front of the Patti Smith cover he did. 1975. Via secrectcinema1 tumblr)

Virtuous Souls

This morning, up early, I listened to an interview with Maya Angelou from a while ago while wrapped in layers of coats and sweaters and hoodies.

It has gotten cold out, and the rain sees to get down to your bones with its chill. 

Here is a transcript of something she said that resonates:

It's like the difference between facts and the truth:  Facts can obscure the truth. You can tell so many facts that you never tell the truth.

You say the places where, the people who, the times when, the reasons why, methods how, blah blah blah. 

But if I tell the human truth, if I tell it well, then a person in Bangalore, another person in Beijing, somebody else in New York City, another person in Mexico City will say "Yes. That's the truth... that's a human truth."

(pause)

(end transcript) 

As I made my way through the cold to my destination, she said one more thing that made me think of so much, as of late:


"You have to have enough courage.  It's the most important of all the virtues. Because without courage, you can't practice any other virtue consistently. You can't be consistently kind, or true, or fair. Not consistently. You can be anything erratically."


be well; be warm; have enough courage.


k.


(image: Aurora Borealis (Substorm), Chena Hotsprings, Alaska, 1989, Kikuji Kawada via isidore tumblr)