i’ve developed a bad association to a love for possessions, as we live in a world where mass production is synonymous with cheap labour, harming the environment, and most of all, the “illness” of happiness through objects rather than friends and family. as i am too conscious with my money, i have never been a shopper myself, and it terrifies me to be in a store, like h&m for instance, and see how people are able to fill several bags with clothes. just in one shop. BUT i think it is important to differ between the different sides of love for objects. accidentally, i have come across several articles and texts during the last week, which discuss people’s relationship to their possessions. the furniture collector joel cheng consider all his collection borrowed, as hi sells and trades, as well as he won’t live forever, and someone else will take care of his things when he dies. one thing is to say this about luxury objects, yet it is not quite the same with seasonal and cheap objects – still, it isn’t necessarily the price that matters. so is it the purpose or the quality of the objects that categorizes you as a good or a bad consumer? it is hard for me to define an inner line or indication for what i considered a good relation to consumption. my love for furniture and home decorating, and the enthusiasm this sometimes brings, makes me wonder if i suffer from consuming, but legitimizes it because i am aware of the phenomenon. that is just stupid, but at the same time, probably occurs more frequently, as we are exposed for all kinds of theories and points of view because of the internet and bla bla. it is the saying that you shouldn’t look up symptoms, because suddenly you have all thinkable kinds of illness. i also legitimate my love for interior because i choose to think it is the feeling and the comfort a room can give that is my fascination, not the objects themselves. but would it be able to have the same connection and the same feelings to space (and the people we share the space with) without the objects?
getting rid of almost all your possessions, somebody would probably say clean up does something to a person. cleaning out of my closet or throw away old paper often makes me feel better than to buy a new thing. although, i think throwing away things makes room for the things we own that actually matter. having a close relationship to the things i own matters a lot to me, and to be honest – i could not live without things. not just because of their practical purposes, but because knowing they are mine and constitute a collection which is a part of me, and this makes me happy to think about. virginia woolf loved to write about objects, and she used the objects to describe people, especially in their absence, as a constant reminder of someone. as cliché as it might sound, to be surrounded by my own things probably allows me to spend some time with myself, from a point of view that i otherwise would not be able to.
soundtrack: practice by drake
summer books: i just finished man with a blue scarf by martin gayford (the book on the top on the floor), which is like a dairy written by gayford, who was sitting for a portrait by lucian freud. he writes about the concrete sittings, their conversations and his thoughts and expectations and parallel projects, as well as the impact the painting has on him and everything he does. so happy i finally read it, i’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but always imagined it would be a bit tedious. it wasn’t. underneath man with a blue scarf, is min kamp 2 (my struggle book 2) by karl ove knausgård, the book i am currently reading. so nice. almost magic. it is a “i don’t bother to try to explain, you have to read it”-book. on my small table, which actually is a flower table, a table where you place a flowerpot, i have i fjor var en lang natt by joakim kjørsvik. i really don’t like the 60 pages or so i’ve read so far, because it reminds me so much of abo rasul’s book that i suspekt kjørsvik to just copy the books he likes. trying to do something very unique is usually not a very good idea, and i like when people actually are aware of it in their work. but it is a great difference between being inspired and copying. when both rasul and kjørsvik are norwegian and contemporary, i don’t think this books it similar by accident, and that annoys me. the pink-ish book underneath is the book magazine called granta. someone stole it to me as a present and i am so flattered. so far just read two stories. the next book is actually macht und rebel by abo rasul (the contemporary artist mathias faldbakkens pseudonym). two summers ago i carried one of his other books everywhere: cocka hola company. i had so much fun reading it. i remember that i lay on a football court close to my summer house reading the book. i had rode by bike to get away from my family, as we had a hard time together that summer and the best escapes was the bike rides in the quiet areas of just fields and horses. remember listening to the weeknd, stopping at the large supermarkets you usually only reach by car, bought chilli nuts or green apples, and then i biked to an empty football court where i ate, read, cried, laughed. this summer i will read cocka hola company over again, as well as macht und rebel and unfun – the three books which the triology scandinavian misantrophy consist of. i will write an in depth study about these books this year, can’t wait. the last book is a blue moleskine notebook that i just finished. i went straight to the nearest bookshop and bought two green ones in two different shades. i have decided to finish those by the end of the summer. usually i love to just fill my notebooks up with all kinds of things, this time i’ve decided only to write. all ready broken the promise by having a ginko bilboa leaf taped to the first page. please recommend some books i should read this summer!
one of the girls at the prada ss 15 menswear show had such a nice bag. i like the way she holds it, i dont know if you are supposed to hold it like that or if it was just comfortable. for example that she needed to change her grip while standing still for such a long time. from dazeddigital.
probably, it won’t be consequential, but i’ve suddenly decided to start to write in english. it is something i have been thinking about for a while - a lot, actually. if i can say so, i have a very close relationship to my mother language. not only because it is in norwegian that i feel like expressing my self the best, but also because there is so much love and tradition related to the norwegian language in my family. we usually discuss the history and development of language, as well as synonyms and stupid words during dinner. it is so much fun to see the differences between my parents’ and grandparents’ language, and their opinions about linguistic devices, as well as friends and new family members who takes part in this, almost essential and compulsory, conversation. however, it seems like we all enjoy the discussions (yes, it is a lot of back and fourth and pros and cons). i think there is something to see what is behind what you take for granted – don’t notice the unavoidable processes behind. the book i am reading at the moment is a kind of a diary written by an english art journalist who were modeling for lucian freud for a long time. the book is called man with a blue scarf, and probably because of its strong concept, it is so far one of the most impressive books i’ve read in so long. not only it is the observations of the model (and journalist, martin gayford), but it is the extremely slow and fascinating process behind the making of a painting. how lucian freud (always been mixing lucian and sigmund..) acts, his body language, his studio, his austerity and fragility which makes the painting take place over several nights, over several months. as freud talks the reasons why the model’s personality must be present for the picture to be good, the model analyzes and compare freud to other artists and their works, workspaces and ways of working. but my point is, finally, i love to see the hidden sides of “things” so present to us, like art and language. and my second point is that there are so many feelings attached to my relation to the norwegian language it feels stupid to give it up for an international internet scene. still, i do. i was supposed to write about not needing a blowdryer in the summer, and therefore not using one. neither a brush. that i like the hint of movement in my hair when i just shower and let it dry by itself. however, i think my post turned out so much more interesting, haha.
sett en time av matrix
gått en time i regnet
kjøpt isabel marant-sko og vurdert en strikkegenser, men nei
hørt på drake-albumet med blå himmel og hengt ut av vinduet og snakket i telefonen mens det pøsregnet
One time I met a French artiste at an art opening (ok it was 3 weeks ago). He was very handsome. He had symmetrical face and a very small gap between his two front teeth. His name was David (pseudonym). He was wearing a red felt hat and a jean jacket with a popped collar. We talked for 15 minutes, kind of, because his English wasn’t very good, and then he had to go. We exchanged no personal information other than our names. LATER THAT NIGHT I got an e-mail. The subject line read: “Have you met a French guy tonight?” It was from David!!!! He said he was in town until Monday (it was Thursday) and would I “like to grab a coffee or an exhibition?” Would I???? We made a date for that Saturday. (Please take a moment to marvel at this French man’s initiative. To briefly meet a woman and then GOOGLE her, and then E-MAIL her, and ASK HER on a date, I think it is something an American man, or at least a New York man has never actually done? Oh my god). On Saturday it was raining very hard. David met me in Bed-Stuy looking like a valkyrie in a long black coat, the collar once again turned up, obscuring his ornate face. We went to Doris. David loved it. He tried to order an entire bottle of wine. The bartenders hated him. They were just jealous! Anyway, we talked about his art. He had recently made some giant ants out of pink cloth and a tent out of clothing tags. He told me to read “The Philosophy of Andy Warhol.” Andy Warhol? Not like, Mike Kelley or Paul McCarthy or some other trendy artist shit? I thus concluded David must be lame, which was good, because that meant I wouldn’t fall in love with a French dude who looked like a valkyrie and was returning to Paris in one day. I was very relieved. David left. I was telling my smart artist friend Sam about him.
“He told me to read “The Philosophy of Andy Warhol,” I said.
“That book is the shit,” she replied.
“Really?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Shit,” I said.
I bought the book. It’s so good. Andy Warhol is obsessed with morning breath, which is as sensible a reason as any not to be in a relationship. A few days ago David found my secret Facebook profile and friended me on it.
(tekst av leah finnegan)
ph gillian garcia/studio pruzzi