#pretentious kitsch

[haikuckuck]

Lovebirds(ceramics,with a mechanical watch)

[astrum-aetherium]

What do you think Henry whispered in Camilla's ear at the end? It's a moment that really stuck with me somehow and I love hearing theories about it

what can possibly be more personal, more ponderous and intimate than i love you?

i'm sure this is something everyone who has read TSH has previously wondered about. i know i have. what i also know is that the most common theory is "live forever", and yes — it would make sense, given that henry is undeniably a devoted little teacher's pet to julian, but it does seem a little melodramatic to me (specifically because julian did abandon them all in the end as well, lol). henry going out with a bang (literally) wouldn't be defined by something as simple as that, however much meaning is attached to it in theory. besides, we've all heard that theory a million times over. i'll offer a new one.

he's goddamn pretentious. to the bone. he refused to take his SATs and thereby consciously denied himself the opportunity to attend any prestigious schools (which he would've certainly gotten into and dominated) for singularly aesthetic reasons. you simply can't get more pretentious than that. i always say that he's too intelligent for his own good — to the point it no longer benefits him at times. just too smart to possess any ability to reflect on himself. almost amusing in that way.

therefore, i believe it was something along the lines of a riddle — something that would keep camilla puzzling over it for a long time succeeding his death. and yes, you can say that his suicide was an impulsive decision and all that, but he had been (even verbally) entertaining suicidal ideology way before he actually went through with it. plus, he just seems like someone who would have something like that — his last words — memorized and ready to go at all times, specifically at a time as dangerous as toying with the possibility of being detained and thrown in jail for murder. just a thought.

i'm almost 100% sure it was also in any language other than english, according to his customs. i've already elaborated on how pretentious he is. he wouldn't make it easy for anyone to figure him out that quickly, not even camilla. the i love you was just a premise, nearly nothing compared to the whisper. and if it's not english, then it must be one of the languages that he does know. assuming that it's either latin or ancient greek, he would go out of his merry way to make it as complex and hardly translatable as he can. he would apply the most archaic of archaic versions of those languages, even with one simple phrase. as i said, he would've planned it out beforehand deliberately. it makes perfect sense.

what it would be, however, is a whole other conversation of its own. maybe that very "i love you" or previously mentioned "live forever", just in a different language. that is the simplest answer i can offer. i like to dig deeper when it comes to mysteries such as this one, though, so i've been gathering my thoughts all day today in order to predominantly satisfy myself with an obnoxiously pretentious answer. how about: "to the stars" (kitsch but fitting, obviously convoluted, and in a different language) or a translated version of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" — just to deride religion and tradition one last time. or, perhaps, "permanence". something that perpetuates his convicted disbelief in vanitas. "never gone"; "the conclusion". and i know, all of these sound dumb as hell in english, but do remember — they would be uttered in a different language, and in a complex way, too. to be mulled over; wondered about for a long time, even as a scholar.

someone needs to hook me up with ms tartt's phone number so we can settle this once and for all, lol. but then again, i don't want to know. i don't want a simple answer to such a mystifying, ponderous question. i'm fine with eternally musing over it — it certainly keeps me entertained.

[cesqdarque]

The Pursuit of Equilibrium

Chapter Two: Chamomile Tea

Until I can muster the patience to figure out how to post on AO3 (or Merlin forbid on Wattpad), have the next chapter of Cassandra's story here :D

Summary: Cassandra Darque spends one last breakfast together with her grandmother in her country estate before an unwelcomed guest - at least for Cass - turns up to take her away from her peaceful country life. Say hello to Zacharias.

Words: 1.5k

Tags: not sure what to tag here | dealing with the consequences of your own actions, I guess? | mild mention of murder

For the vibes: Lacuna Coil - Swamped (fun fact, the band is from Italy too :D)

You'll find the link to Chapter One here

Wrapped in a gray dressing gown, Cassandra descended the stairs to the foyer to join breakfast with her grandmother in the large hall as usual. She had taken a quick look in the mirror in her bathroom to ensure that her restless and nightmare-plagued night had left no visible traces on her face. Unfortunately, she realized that in addition to her natural pallor and aversion to the use of cosmetics, the dark circles under her eyes still adorned her delicate face. And with a yawn, she dragged herself to the inviting foyer like an exhausted creature.

The morning sun illuminated the generously equipped dining room. She squinted her eyes at the brightness which the room radiated compared to her somber appearance. The opulence of the premises of the estate was no longer able to impress her. In the center of the room was a luxuriously ornamented fireplace made of Portoro marble. Shy flames crackled and were reflected in the dark rock interwoven by golden veins. Gleaming polished herringbone parquet, an ornate coffered ceiling, and shimmering pretentious kitsch like the large chandelier with hanging stained glass elements that gave a kaleidoscopic playfulness to the incoming rays of light. Her grandmother always knew how to impress visitors with her extravagant taste.

Lazily, she grabbed the back of a chair at the end of the long dark dining table, pulled it towards her, and sat down in her place without a word. Breakfast was a wide selection of rolls, jams, and juices were carefully draped on the white tablecloth in front of her. She grabbed a bun and began to cut it in half with a small knife. When she reached for the jam bowls, she noticed that her grandmother had provided her with the apricot jam that she so disgusted. She knew that her grandmother had it imported from her old home especially for her, probably to make her feel a little more at home. It was an affectionate gesture from her grandmother, but she had never had the heart to enlighten her about her aversion to the fruit since her arrival. Therefore, she wrinkled up her nose and silently dipped her knife into the peel of the light orange jam and began to eat her breakfast.

At the opposite end of the table, Augustina Montague's sharpest plucked brows rose as her piercing dark green eyes peered over the pages of her Gazette. Perfectly manicured fingernails folded the pages of her paper to set aside, and her blood-red lips curled in delight at her granddaughter's arrival.

"Good morning, Topolina," she greeted.

Cassandra put aside her bread and looked at her grandmother across the long dining table.

Mrs. Montague, or grandmother, as Cassandra liked to call her was not just a woman of mere finery. As befits a woman of her guild, her sharpest blades were her forged words. Cassandra knew that she could also pull out her wand at lightning speed without hesitation and strike it down over the unsuspecting necks of her rivals like a sword of Damocles whenever her grandmother saw it necessary to emphasize certain arguments. And yet it seemed to her as if a trace of melancholy were hidden behind the grass-green irises of the matriarch that morning.

"Good morning, grandmother," Cassandra replied politely, even if her smile could not reach her eyes.

Augustina’s long, elegant fingers grasped the handle of her chamomile tea. Scalding hot chamomile tea. How her grandmother could sip it so leisurely without burning her tongue was a mystery to Cassandra. But no one in this household was allowed to express weakness, not even during the most banal ordinary performances.

She did the same as her grandmother and poured her a cup of the hot brew while her gaze strayed to the printed pages of the Gazeta del Ministerio. Augustina followed her granddaughter’s curious gaze attentively.

"Don't worry," she smiled reassuringly at her across the table.

With raised eyebrows, Cassandra replied coolly, "I'm not worried."

Augustina returned her granddaughter's statement with a scrutinizing expression. Cassandra rolled her eyes. She was not worried. It had been a few days since her trip to Venice, and the office doors of the manor had not been kicked in by the heavy, polished boots of the Ministry's henchmen thus far.

"If they had sought to catch me, they would have already done it. I'm not afraid," she reasoned again.

Her grandmother shook her head in displeasure, "Cassandra, it's not the Ministry's bootlickers that we have to keep an eagle eye on. Your imprudence has had a far greater impact on the political arena on which our clan has to choreograph its operations."

She rose from her seat, clamped the Gazeta between her long fingers, and strode towards her granddaughter.

"Your actions have awakened sleeping dragons, dear," Augustina explained as she smoothed out a certain page of the newspaper in front of Cassandra, "Always watchful.”

With a tap of her fingertip on a rather short and at first glance insignificant message, Cassandra's gaze followed the finely manicured nails and read the few sentences carefully.

Mysterious murders linked to clan rivalries? Two known clan members have been found brutally murdered, surrounded by traces of unknown magic. Retaliation by rival clans cannot be ruled out. As tensions escalate, fears grow of a resurgence of old vendettas in northern Italy. Investigations have been launched.

Cassandra swallowed hard and looked at her grandmother in bewilderment. How much of her beloved chamomile tea must she already have tasted when Mrs. Montague was still able to eat breakfast with her granddaughter in an utterly peaceful state of mind? She nervously wiped her hair from her face. If she had been so convinced of her fearlessness a few moments ago, she was now getting a little restless.

Mrs. Montague must have sensed what was happening inside her granddaughter, for she put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and spoke calmly, "I'll take care of it. All I ask of you is that you keep a low profile at Hogwarts. I can sweep a murder or two under the carpet with skillful negotiations but should your abilities concerning your magic reach the ears of certain circles, it could invite more serious opponents onto the stage. Do you understand, Topolina?”

Green irises met in silent agreement and Cassandra nodded in comprehension. "Yes, grandmother."

An audible polite clearing of one’s throat interrupted the moment at the richly laid breakfast table. At the same time, the eyes of the two women at the dining table wandered to the threshold of the hall, where a young gentleman dressed in a black suit stood patiently.

"Mrs. Montague, the carriage is prepared," announced the unmistakably deep voice of Zacharias Boniface. His appearance, although he was almost a decade older than Cassandra, was gallantly youthful. Pitch-black wavy hair, blue-gray unyielding eyes embedded in a narrow but handsome face.

"Ah. Mr. Boniface, reliable as ever," Mrs. Montague approved his appearance. She patted Cassandra gently on the shoulder and turned back to her granddaughter. "Make haste and change for your voyage. Alfie will take care of your luggage and Mr. Boniface will be waiting for you in the foyer."

Cassandra’s gaze drifted back and forth between her grandmother and the newcomer. Surprised and rather unnerved, she turned her grandmother, "He won't accompany me, will he?"

A gentle smile curled along Mrs. Montague's lips, "But of course Cassandra. He’s the best choice for your protection."

She snorted. The last thing she had desired for the long journey ahead was the company of Zacharias. Why would he, of all people, once again take on the role of her chaperone? She had some good reasons for not preferring him as her companion. But she could not entrust the reasonings to her grandmother without getting into a lot more trouble. Subsequently, she accepted the decision of the latter without further resistance and rose from her seat.

"Have a good trip, Topolina. We will correspond as soon as you arrive sound and safe at Hogwarts," Long manicured fingers cupped her granddaughter's pale cheeks, before Mrs. Montague turned away from Cassandra, grabbed her Gazeta, and went back to her breakfast and chamomile tea.

On her way out of the hall, Cassandra's gaze crossed Zacharias' and it would have been impossible for her to express it with less discontent. She frowned; nose turned up as though he crawled from the bottom of a putrid lake and made to move past him quickly.

Her open display of dislike left him completely cold, and before she could pass him, he whispered under his breath, only audible to Cassandra, "Miss Darque, you shine like the blooming life."

A mischievous grin accompanied his quip, that she would have loved to tear from his beautiful face. But she only stretched her head to the other side, pulled the dressing gown tighter around her chest, and strutted away in the direction of her chambers. This will be a cheerful journey, she thought to herself sarcastically. What had she possibly done to deserve this, she sighed.

[acesydneysage]

I'm very curious about what Adrian's art is like and what his style would eventually settle into. Gonna talk about a bunch of aesthetic stuff that I have very little actual knowledge about, but I think it's fun to consider it.

The man is old, old money, literally aristocratic, so you expect certain artistic sensibilities of him. But when Sydney describe his taste it always seems interestingly dissonant to me. It makes me wonder about both of them.

His fashion sense is more standard, it's simple and is usually compared favorably to other people by Sydney, who has pretty conservative taste. Although it's a bit more daring then people who don't care it's still not outlandish, as you see in Sonya's wedding, where he's wearing blue instead of plain black but looks very normal compared to Abe. He's trendy, and sometimes dressed inappropriately for the occasion but not accidentally

But his taste in decor seems to be downright kitsch, it's kind of delightful. Sydney claims his sofa really clashes with the yellow he picked for his walls. While his choice in second hand furniture and his happiness with it might have more to do with his financial limitations and his joy in actually having some autonomy, making his own choices and doing this adult thing by himself (I believe he describes his place in court as a glorified dorm), I doubt the paint would have been more expensive in a different color, he chose that one.

Yellow is also the color of Sydney's aura, which is part of it, but he probably wasn't consciously thinking of that so early on, and there were probably more muted options. From Sydney's perspective his decor seems to be an affront to good taste, but also something she's immediately fond of because it shows his personality so clearly. In the golden lily she says both drive away the shadows (of the bad memories in the apartment, of her own troubles).

:read more:

Again, Sydney has pretty conservative taste, but Eddie is usually the representative of normality and he seems to agree that it's all a bit much. He also thinks a similar color on the Ivashkinator is ugly. Meanwhile Sydney likes it because it's the historic original color, and Adrian likes it because it matches his walls (and Sydney's aura, perhaps more consciously this time). I love it when Sydney and Adrian arrive at the same place through different routes.

Finally, the actual art he makes. It's very early on and he's still exploring his style. He makes a lot of different things for his first homework (nerd) and when he's supposed to make a self-portrait he ends up gluing together parts of very different pieces which he wasn't satisfied with.

There's a lot of very abstract stuff, and Sydney teases him about some of it but she's clearly fascinated by his art and loves a lot of it. Some of it expresses his emotions in a very direct way, some of it gets sloppy when he's drunk. It can be very earnest or very pretentious, probably normal in a young artist.

But this post was actually prompted by a post about how people who paint "badass pictures of skeletons with fire and motorcycles" should get more credit, and Adrian definitely appreciates them. He has more high minded stuff, but he's also here for the Van Wizard School of Art. The skeleton pirate biker was an absurd thing he came up with while desperately reaching for stuff to say, but he made it into a shirt and actually wore it.

He also does some more surrealist things, we see a painting of a building which gets smashed during his fight with Marcus. Surrealism matches his themes in a very obvious way considering how important dream walking and delusions are in his arc. Something inspired by the dream world and the subconscious mind would be directly linked to that.

I know nothing about art, but I really love looking at stuff by Hilma af Klint and Remedios Varo, and I wonder what he'd think of them.

Hilma did abstract that was very inspired by the spiritual world with beautiful vibrant colors that seem cheerful to me.

Remedios did some amazing surrealist work, which I find somber, strange and striking.

Okay, I'm done now

[pyjamac]

Whats the name of the movie you were talking about in your last post ?

wish you were here (2018) is an american postmodern picaresque film about a former english teacher from queens, who goes on a cross country road trip in order to lose himself. the film deals with themes of grief, identity, social responsibility as well as america as a place and as an idea. it has been described as “kitsch existentialism,” “disarmingly funny,” “gruesome,” “really pretentious,” and “too confusing to watch.” it can be streamed exclusively inside my head bc it is unfortunately not a real movie abt my oc i’ve tricked my ownself into feeling like is real. :•)

[sexcromancy]

Clarity As with Finishing the Hat, the three principles stated in my mantra are printed conveniently in the end papers of this book, the back set graphically depicting that they are all in the service of clarity on every level, from intention to diction. Let me be clear about clarity, however: of itself it is, in the end, not very nourishing. Narrative art must be clear, but it must also be mysterious. Something should remain unsaid, something just beyond our understanding, a secret. If it's only clear, it's kitsch; if it's only mysterious (a much easier path), it's condescending and pretentious and soon monotonous. Forster and Fitzgerald knew how to be both. So did Tennessee Williams.

I was thinking this morning about how so many of my favorite Sondheim lines are exceedingly simple (I could look at him forever in color and light, don't stop now, keep going! in being alive) in contrast to his usually elaborate sentence construction. and then I was reading this passage in the section of look I made a hat where he defines concepts that are important to him, and it became abundantly clear that they are my favorites because of everything that surrounds them. the build up to I could look at him forever is magnificent, but the raw emotion coming through in dot and george's harmonizing voices surpasses and encapsulates everything that came before. as Sondheim says above, it is not nourishing by itself, but in the context of everything else, it becomes one shining moment of pure emotion. and same for the encouragement in being alive - I love how those moments show how dearly Bobby's friends do care for him, which has been somewhat obscured under satire the whole show. clarity!

[byneddiedingo]

Amy Adams in Big Eyes (Tim Burton, 2014)

Cast: Amy Adams, Christoph Waltz, Danny Huston, Krysten Ritter, Jason Schwartzman, Terence Stamp, Jon Polito. Screenplay: Scott Alexander, Larry Karaszewski. Cinematography: Bruno Delbonnel. Production design: Rick Heinrichs. Film editing: JC Bond. Music: Danny Elfman. 

It's a great idea for a movie: the downfall of a hugely successful artist who took the credit for the work done by someone else. It allows a filmmaker to explore such topics as fraud, the difference between capital-A Art and works that are “just popular,” the nature of value when it comes to works of the imagination, and in this case, the relationship between men and women in the art world. Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) persuaded his wife, Margaret (Amy Adams), to let him pass off her work -- paintings of large-eyed waifs -- as his own. The trouble with the movie is that it never quite decides what it wants to say about any of the important issues it raises, other than that Margaret Keane was a victim of the male-dominated society of the 1950s and '60s. It doesn't even settle on the issue of whether Margaret's paintings were mawkish kitsch or actual works of Art, though I think it rather smugly assumes that viewers will have enough taste to decide on the former. But it complicates this position by starting with a quote from Andy Warhol proclaiming that the Keane art is "terrific! If it were bad, so many people wouldn't like it." And it turns the critics of Keane into pretentious snobs, represented by the gallery owner (Jason Schwartzman) who resents the fact that the Keane paintings outsell his rather arid, minimalist abstractions, and by John Canaday (Terence Stamp), the New York Times critic who prevents a Keane from being exhibited at the 1964 World's Fair in New York. So what we are left with is Margaret Keane, the victim who finally has the courage to turn against her monstrously manipulative husband and become a hero. That she is a hero in the cause of women's rights is presumably fine. But is it also fine that she becomes a hero by asserting her right to profit from making bad art? I don't think either screenwriters Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski or director Tim Burton have decided for themselves. So we are left only with Adams's terrific performance as Margaret, which could have been bolstered by a fuller backstory, and Waltz's somewhat overdone performance as Walter. What Burton does best in his movies is milieu, especially when he can caricature it, which he does here, with a little more restraint than usual, in his portraits of the business of art in the 1960s. And he gets us into the head of Margaret Keane: When she is grinding out big-eyed paintings for Walter she goes to a supermarket and hallucinates the clerks and customers as big-eyed grotesques. But the movie probably should have gone more in one direction or another: Either into a realistic portrayal of the relationship of the Keanes or into a more vivid and surreal lampoon of the art world. Trying to do a bit of both undermines the film.

[strawberrywilde]

in for 2023: leather biker jackets, rioja, reading for pleasure, potatoes in all their forms, silly pink cocktails, tom ford perfumes, miscellaneous kitsch objects found in charity shops, monochrome, love, respecting yourself and your boundaries.

out for 2023: colleen hoover, tabis, people who shush, black opium, tequila, frazzled english woman core, being pretentious, crocs, spicy ramen, broken friendships, oatly milk.

[devosopmaandag]

Kitsch, kunst en kerst

Ik keek naar een documentaire over de Chinese kunstenaar Chu Teh-chun (1920 – 2014), van wie ik misschien ten onrechte nog nooit had gehoord. Opgegroeid en gevormd in de Chinese cultuur vertrekt hij als bekend schilder in de jaren 50 naar Europa, verlangend naar de Westerse kunst, die hem fascineert en aantrekt. Hij zal voor de rest van zijn leven in Parijs blijven en zich door de oude meesters en kunstenaars als De Staël en de Amerikaanse expressionisten laten beïnvloeden. De film volgt de vaste regels van een kunstdocumentaire: leven en carrière worden trouw gevolgd, er is de weduwe, de zoon, er zijn experts en het werk zelf. Scènes uit zijn leven worden theatraal uitgebeeld door een acteur, zijn werken worden vermengd met beelden van vervormde landschappen en kleurige, uitwolkende vloeistoffen. Mij ontsnapte af en toe kreten van verbijstering en ergernis over zoveel kitsch, die niet zijn werken en zijn kunstenaarschap golden, maar de film zelf. Er werd een theatrale hoogmis opgevoerd van de mythe van de kunst en de kunstenaar. Te veel wierook, te veel kaarslicht, te veel engelachtige stemmen. En dan is het ook nog eens kerst.

De (maatschappij-)kritische jongvolwassene en daarna de inhoudelijk veeleisende kunstenaar die ik werd, maakten dat kerst voorgoed iets ambivalents kreeg. Gekoesterd door een warme jeugd was er altijd het verlangen ernaar, maar ook de onvermijdelijke en kritische distantie. Een kerstboom gold als dubieus sentiment en werd taboe. Dat taboe gooide ik rond mijn vijftigste overboord. Wat altijd belangrijk bleef – en gedaan werd – was samen te zijn met familie en of vrienden. 'Peergroup'-mores, verleidingen en kinderherinneringen vormen rond deze tijd altijd een wonderlijke mix, die mij lang wat ongemakkelijk maakten. Nu staat er een kerstboompje, wordt er veel tijd en aandacht aan een nieuwjaarskaart besteed, bak ik koekjes voor de buren, kijk ik elk jaar naar de zelfde films, waar ik een traan bij laat (elk jaar de zelfde), en glimlach om mijzelf. Kortom het is natuurlijk ook kaarslicht, wierook en engelenstemmen, waar ik me bij de documentaire zo aan ergerde. Die ergernis gold natuurlijk de pretentie van de makers diep en hoog te willen zijn.

Nee, laat ik ook deze kerst niet te hoog willen grijpen, een beetje diepte graag, en vroeg de vaste vrienden met wie we samen het kerstmaal vieren iets voor te lezen. Zo verschenen Alice B Toklas, Toni Morrison, Carel Blotkamp, Toon Tellegen en Rilke aan tafel. Ik las voor uit Annie Dillard in 'Pelgrim langs Tinker Creek'. Ze gaat erop uit om zwermen spreeuwen te observeren. “Na een halfuur was ook de laatste achterblijver in de bomen verdwenen. Stijf hees ik me overeind, verpletterd door het onverwachte van dit schoons. Mijn uitzettende longen brulden. Mijn ogen prikten van de inspanning om een gevederd stipje door een vlechtwerk van takken te volgen'.

[haikuckuck]

My old ceramic watch( mechanical,handwinded)."its almost too late"

"Porcelain pigeons ".white doves. Lovebirds.

[crudelise]

I dont like december.

December always feels so pretentious. As if the year tries to go out in an exciting sparkle. Its glitter and kitsch everywhere. Everybody seems to be excited about christmas or whatever holiday they're preparing for, but underneath all I can see is a big amount of stress. A big pressure to make the year end in a perfect little sparkle for everybody. Why?

Why can't we let the year end without any sparkle? It's not as if a "New Year" really has helped make anybody a new beginning yet... And the end of next year should also not mean the end of trying. Stop setting so much pressure on "a year" which is a mesurement that is humanmade even. Let years fade into what they are or one were... a thing to help us count.

Well with all that thought...

Happy Hoglidays

[onesaltyerik]

Summary of last week's studies for my classes cause i find it hilarious. Greenberg: Here is how 'kitsch" was evolved, also 'kitsch' is a vessel of propoganda Other essayist i forgot his name: Here is why Greenberg was a fucking idiot and wrong and stupid! Also he's pretentious as fuck and uses big words that are really good at saying a lot of nothing! Third essayist: Greenberg had a point but was really bad at explaining it.

[lost-dreamers-system]

Oh god help me, I'm practically writing a thesis on Our style...

The general idea of the style:

A depiction of the tension between the two halves of a soul, darkness and whimsy, horror and fairytales, 1960s psychedelia and 1980s goth to y2k's imitation of 1960s psychedelia. A retrospective and a flashback to a generation where everything feels like it was overshadowed by nostalgia for a previous decade ... Between the changeling child and the bloodthirsty vampire...

It's not refined at all. But the idea is to find the place where urban fantasy, fairytales, horror and whatever genre you wanna call BTVS, can blend together and where the various different stylistic loves of this collective of people can meet and synergize.

Fuck that feels like a total pretentious ad read, I sound like a douche. Anyway...

It's just trying to get everyone's shit to gel together.

Planning to do it by creating a set of style words and what those style words mean, then assign those keywords to specific alters - and then come up with key clothing items and say which alter they fit...

Those would be

Fun(ky): Hawaiian print shirts, kitchsy prints, 1960s psychedelia and 1970s Technicolor disco rainbow and 80s jewel toned paisely patchwork suede. Basically, shirts that are fun (kitsch) or funky (psychedelia, paisley, early 90s aesthetic patterns (Memphis something).

Dramatique: Excessive, 80s glamrock, 19th century romantic dandy, 18th century aristocratic hedonist, medieval court jester or fairytale prince (Jareth from Labyrinth is a perfect example of "dramatique")

Gothic: this includes the morbid and macabre as well as the ~romantic Victorian vampire goth~ style brocades has overlap with dramatique but is much darker and tends towards more violence. In essence, Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stokers Dracula and 90s vampires covered in blood and dripping in bondage gear (Blade's aesthetic).

Academia: look, we're on Tumblr. We know what this means. Things Giles would wear on Buffy but also with a hint of 80s prep drenched in black rit dye.

Flower Child: How Roz's memories think hippie should look. Harem pants and crochet and all of that. Hard to tell if this is his brain's interpretation of 1960s aesthetic or his brief exposure to early 00s hippies through the libertarian party in Colorado... But it's not quite the same as fun(ky). Crunchier and earthier and a little more adjacent to a softer, earthier sort of modern fae perception.

Whimsigoth: Where Dramatique and Flower Child intersect with Gothic... There's some good examples of this in Buffy.

Y2K Nostalgia: mall goth and the stuff Roz liked as a six year old.

Pansy: oh boy Roz why this word okay anyway, this is just "does it tell the world I am a dirty rotten queer and a degenerate bondage pervert?" Thing kind of comes out.

Femme/Queen: OVERTLY "femme" stuff. This is all vibes that we can't 100% explain . (Could honestly call this category "Morgan" and "Florian")

I think that's a pretty approximation of the words we're working with....

Next part: who is what category...

Fun(ky): Laurent, Louis, Daffodil

Dramatique: Louis, Adam, Daffodil, Florian, Morgan

Gothic: Adam, Louis, Laurent, Daffodil

Academia: Adam, Laurent

Flower Child: Morgan, Daffodil

Whimsigoth: Morgan, Daffodil, Louis

Y2K Nostalgia: Florian, Morgan

Pansy: Florian, Daffodil, Louis

Femme/Queen: Morgan and Florian

Some key fashion items:

- fun(ky) or dramatique button downs

-gothic, dramatique, pansy and flower Child dress shirts

- turtlenecks

- fun(ky), academic and flower Child sweaters and cardigans

-fun blazers

-pointed or clunky heeled boots

-interesting pants

-slutty mesh

- too many vests with so many patterns

We've gotten....kinda sidetracked and lost sight of what we were doing. Posting this so we can check it later.

[lepartiprisdeschoses]

Not radically different from 50's kitsch maybe?

"Common life depicted on afternoon TV

It's spiked [designed?] to give the miserable a vogue identity..."

^ not that the sentiment of this lyric is original or easy to express without coming across as pretentious, but it's true isn't it?

[mkyurttas]

O.B.A., 2023

Organisms are Algorithms, Performance, 4 hours, First Saturday

O, Performance, 4 hours, Second Saturday

B, Performance & Workshop, 4 hours, Third Saturday

A, Performance, 4 hours, Fourth Saturday

oba, Performance Installation, 32 hours, Every Monday and Friday for 4 weeks

“... used to migrate to Antalya Lara Dsi Camp with their family every summer to spend the whole summer there, in a camp by the sea. Their house, which was a tent in the first years, turned into a prefabricated structure over time. Mustafa learned many things in this camp and met many of their best friends here...” Efe Meral, Sketch State Exhibition, 2017

“… pretentiousness, frivolity, naive middle-class vanity, and shocking extremism… Camp sees everything in quotes. It is not a lamp, but a 'lamp'; not a woman, but a 'woman'." Susan Sontag, Notes on Camp, 1964

“oba'' gives its name to the O.B.A. project and 'reproduces' the structures called oba, where the artist lived during the summers from their childhood to their youth. The work exhibits the collaboration of Mk Yurttaş and Efe Meral in mikaye (where the artist defines their practice as an artist collective made up of personas) and touches the queer(ish) tones of fragility, vulnerability and failure of Rhodesia.

The performance thinks about the homophony of the word “camp” related to the architecture (area/region) and the queer; over the possibility that the experience of "growing up" in a summer camp by the sea may be free of identity and roots, and the possibility of camp aesthetics, alike irony and kitsch, being out of the mainstream. The temporary structures reproduced by the performance of Mk in 5533 within these and other possibilities,  are experienced as constructions that tend to disintegrate at any moment, multiply irregularly, leak out and disappear.

Photo credits: Orhan Cem Çetin, Mk Yurttaş, Can Küçük, Performistanbul

[sourkitsch]

ohhh since you posted school of apelles, i have to ask: thoughts on Odd Nerdrum, his notion of Kitsch and etc?

My url literally has the word kitsch in it (a term from a different essay that I found compelling) & my header image is a Nerdrum preparatory drawing so um. I like him.

BUT. I find him a bit pretentious? Which is hilarious coming from me I guess. I think he’s intelligent person and his art vs. Techne thing is a valid discussion to have via the over-emphasis on concept over skill. Personally, most of the work I find impactful has equal consideration to both. I enjoy how he discusses art history, he makes it engaging and clearly has strong opinions which… I also do.

All that being said he has created a cult of personality around him that I don’t quite buy into? Many “traditional” painters tend to shit on work they don’t understand without trying to understand it at all, and he’s definitely guilty of that. And that goes double for people who aren’t working within the western tradition. In the past he’s also parroted some harmful art historical motifs without actually understanding the impact of said images (his Wandering Jew painting…).

While our personal politics and ethos don’t align, I’ve learned a lot from studying his work! The Apelles YouTube channel has a lot of valuable demonstrations and I’m going to try to try some experiments based on them over the summer. They almost act as a repository for knowledge that would be otherwise lost— ie mediums! I use a lot of synthetic mediums by gamblin, and while alkyds are great as a student in an art institution that prefers acrylic paint, I would like to eventually move away from them in my work, especially as I consider academy training.

More on the kitsch thing: I have personally encountered some eye rolling when I talk about my enjoyment of allegorical and symbolic painting so I get it. Also Nerdrum having a breakdown when he was a student bc of a Rauschenberg… I get that too. First time I read Greenberg’s Avant-garde & Kitsch screed a few years back I saw red. As for the movement itself, it resonates deeply with me. I think there’s incredible value in understanding basic human experiences and impulses through figurative art and even though it’s something that has “been done before” that’s no reason not to continue the tradition. I think art spaces (and in general left leaning spaces tbh) are too focused on wholly abandoning the past without reflecting and learning from it first. Despite all the shit there’s so still much to enjoy. There’s also the new cultural view of like “skill and knowledge is elitist” which is… uh.

Also, I don’t think Nerdrum is as antiquated as people seem to think he is. Honestly I feel like he’s at home in 20th century art. He’s very psychologically motivated and has a lot to say in his work in the vein of psychoanalysis. Don’t kill me but I do kind of think of him as a surrealist with several extra steps.

Ok I could literally talk about this forever but I’m gonna stop now this is already like an essay !!