Hanka goes for a walk

Wednesday, 14 May 2014

Boro

Just as stitches follow one another, the past weekend I was able to stitch together pieces of my own memory fabric.

The visit to De Rien's clothing atelier in London and a recent visit to Sommerset House where I discovered Boro.

Boro's origins date back to the Edo period (17th-and early 19th Century)

and it was what impoverished Japanese people would wear in times of economic struggle.

Centuries have gone by but Boro's beautiful qualities have prevailed and it is gaining increasing currency among talented designers in an array of beautiful reinterpretations.

Colour is an important aspect of Boro, hence, the indigo tones as opposed to those worn by the aristocracy like golden or red.

The interesting part in this sequel has been to experience how things acquire a different dimension when removed from their original context.

It is also notable how this shift in time and space confers the object with new meaning and purpose.

Ironically, it is Boro's aesthetic value -though not exclusively- what current trends in design deem so valuable, making it an object of desire and inspiration.

Boro's beauty lies in its organic quality which makes it rather humane and intriguing. The visible stitches as symbols of frailty and wounded stories. Patched and washed out, and when seen from afar, a marvellous map of light and shadow.

The relevance it has taken among some designers and craftspeople is -a lucky act for us- of openness, visual stimulation and individuality, which mass production could not replace.

Boro is the Japanese stitch work on worn out pieces of fabric which dates back to war time when it was worn by the impoverished population and blue was regarded as a less luxurious colour as opposed to red which denoted a higher social status.

Sommerset House, London.

A poetic, inspiring and timeless atelièr. de Rien's

Sunday, 6 April 2014

Of factories, façades and phenomenal Lynch

This blog is about connecting some dots that don't seemingly have anything in common, except, they make sense to me .
The first one is David Lynch, followed by the Tate London and random memories, and if I can't pull out of this one; I'll fetch an eraser head.

David Lynch's exhibition at the Photographers Gallery London, is an ode to his haunting universe. The B&W pictures were taken in run-down factories in Germany, Poland and England.
At the exhibition, just as with his films, we are surreptitiously transported to another space and time. The feeling may be enhanced by the soundscape he composed and that moves along with us through the room bringing elements of motion, three dimensionality and suspense.

While looking at the prints I remembered my own fascination for such spaces and the imposing shadows they cast. Their rust and abandonment.
The first formal job I held was located in the outskirts of the city. The area is literally called "The industrial zone" and the landscape is dominated by factorie's long tentacles and breath.
Most people would have found it gloom but it was rather interesting to me.
Some of the first charcoal drawings I made are influenced by fumes and smoke.

More or less around the same time; the final year of university, my father gave me a photography book on aspects of life across the vast ex-USSR with larger than life pictures of young punks, working people, life in the city, derelict concrete sites and the inhospitable far away places. Exacerbated nationalism, human struggle, beauty and hope.
And Film was my best buddy along those years.

Days after Lynch's exhibition I visited the Tate Modern in London.
The Tate is situated in a former power station by the Thames Southbank.
The dramatic character of the façade can be seen from far away across the Millennium Bridge and beyond. It's a most perfect sight for art in all its force.

Excerpt from the Photographers Gallery documents cited for this exhibition:

"I got a taste for a certain kind of architecture and a feeling for machines and smoke and fear. To me, the ideal factory location has no real nature, except winter-dead black trees and oil- soaked earth. Time disappears when I'm shooting in a factory, it's really beautiful".

David Lynch