The culture vulture by Culture Vultures

the culture

vulture Issue #1: spring 2014

{editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s note}

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Firstly we would like to welcome you to our 1irst ever edition of the c u l t u r e v u l t u r e , a n o n l i n e magazine consisting of posts that have previously appeared on our blog. Having been inspired by many other online publications, i n c l u d i n g I n t e r n a n d T h e Quarterly to name but a few, we were enthused with a sense of ‘anything they can do’. So with the help of simple tools such as PowerPoint and Issuu, during one wet afternoon after Christmas, in which dissertation introductions were supposed to be written and runs were meant to have taken place, Issue 1 was born. The articles featured in this edition are a collection spanning varying topics that were all written since our blog’s birth, almost a year ago. The aim is to feature a wide breadth of content and in the future we hope to

include personal artwork into the mix. The pictures shown between the articles are ones taken from our ‘Filmstrips: Architecture’ post and feature many of the exciting places we have been lucky enough to travel to. Whilst we hope that this magazine will become a regular feature, as you can imagine the life of two third year students trying to obtain both a degree and a life plan for the future is a busy one. Therefore a t i m e f r a m e i s i m p o s s i b l e ! However we see this venture as proof that anyone, anywhere can get his or her teeth stuck into a creative project. Especially as between the two of us the relevant experience, skills, knowledge and gadgetry is highly minimal. We hope you enjoy reading a much as we have enjoyed creating.

contents ART PHOTOGRAPHY FASHION FOOD DESIGN OPINION TRAVEL

paper is art just porn for posh people? life lessons from frida 125 years of national geographic :ilmstrip: horizons blast from the past advanced style going green how to: throw a cray:ish party student spaces: babs student spaces: mr hughes mo’monday what is the most iconic image in the world? part II china: a dual perspective hangzhou & shanghai

Culture Vulture

Pronunciation: [cull-charrr vull-charrr] [kʌltʃə/ vʌltʃə/]

noun. slang

1.  A person with an excessive and often pompous

interest in the arts. Activities often include dropping pretentious references into conversation, reading counter-culture literature (see: ‘English Lit Student’), and partaking in supposedly high-brow exchanges.

2.  A person with exquisite taste who stimulates a positive impact within wider societal frameworks, especially through digital mediums, by sharing nuggets of cultural wisdom and awesomeness.

ccording to critics the days of paper are numbered. It is slowly being ostracised from society in favour of modern technology; we no longer read on it: goodbye daily paper, hello internet; farewell novel, nice to meet you kindle; adios letter, you’ve been replaced by the younger, fresher email… OK you get the picture. And even the art world, the area we all thought would be immune to this epidemic, has increasingly become techno-‐focused… David Hockney shame on you!

But that’s where we are wrong, whilst Charles Saatchi is currently receiving his 50 minutes of tabloid attention for those already infamous photos (how anyone could lay a hand on that domestic goddess is beyond me), he has always been relatively acclaimed in the art world for knowing whats great before us mere mortals come to our senses. And it is safe to say that he has struck again, celebrating paper whilst the rest of society is eschewing it.

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Marcelo Ja

come

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Dominic McGill

Han Feng

is art just porn for posh people?

[Jonathan Light -‐ The Art of Porn: An Aesthetics for the Performing Art of Pornography]

or me, my Classics seminar at 9am on a Thursday morning equates to what I imagine the mental struggle of Chinese water torture to be like. Okay so torture should never be trivialised, I take that back, but the purest and most undiluted form of FML should be referred to here. In fact, any I-‐hate-‐my-‐life-‐cliches you can think of apply. I usually resort to attempting to replay ab-‐fab episodes in my head to get me through the gruelling two hours, a process which is all the more pitying considering being there is self-‐in1licted, and as a humanities student my seminars cost on average £50 a pop. But this week, amongst the mundane drivel I was 1iltering out of my head, an interesting phrase popped up that made me snap out of my daydream and metaphorically stand to attention: “Is art just porn for posh people?” my seminar leader joked. The topic we were talking about (classical sculpture) suddenly got a lot more intriguing. It is true, I thought, why does the labelling of something as “art”, in particular “classical” art, make nakedness okay, especially in a society which criticises too much 1lesh in the media as either slutty or objectifying, depending on the subject. Why is the naked form acceptable when cast in white marble, or painted in oil, and stood in a gallery with a little gold plaque? Essentially: how does the pretentious label of “classical art” justify a butt naked lady thrusting her boobs at any Tom, Dick and Harry? Even Niki Minaj barely gets away with that stuff. What makes one kind of image pornographic and another ‘classical’? This summer the British Museum opened an exhibition showcasing examples of the Japanese erotic art Shunga, a supposedly racy collection which would get the heart pumping of the most decayed dinosaur in

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the art world, despite protests that the Edo period produced high art. An age limit of 16+ was imposed so child line’s phones wouldn’t be ringing off the hook with concerns that those liberal art types were exposing the youth of Britain to sexually explicit content – as if they couldn’t just get that from watching their favourite Disney star and a wrecking ball, Miley you kinky devil you. But would some pin-‐striped ponse from Sothebys excuse some of Japanese photographer Nobuyoshi Araki’s raunchier photographs? Google image his name and you’ll get many a black and white still of bondage inspired images. And it’s not just those overly-‐sexed Orientals that are at it. Dazed Digital ran a great article looking at whether porn can be used as a legitimate creative platform, think Danny Sangra, Fiona Banner and Patricia Cronin amongst others. Just because Jeff Koons’ ‘Made in Heaven’, is not quite the same heaven depicted on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel – does it make it any less ‘art’? Take a look at Schiele and Klimt who both grappled with issues of obscenity surrounding their nude sketches, or Helmut Newton whose photography has always caused controversy. (Also – Georgia O’Keefe, they’re just 1lowers? Really? you’re kidding no one love). But why was this kind of art any more outrageous than Titan’s V e n u s , o r W i l l i a m -‐ A d o l p h e Bouguereau’s Abduction of Psyche? The same amount of skin is being 1lashed, the vajayjay still gets centre stage, and double D’s are still double D’s – whether they are in watercolour or pixels. Dress up Kate Moss in wet rags and splay her across a couch: photograph her and you get Playboy cover, paint her in oils and frame it in gold and you get a Tate masterpiece.

ir Elton got into trouble back in 2007, when some artwork he owned was seized from the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art. Authorities struggled to determine if the image by artist Nan Goldin was ‘art’, or whether the nude child crossed over into child porn: …does it matter that a photograph of a naked child is in a respectable art gallery – rather than in a seedy magazine or on an illegal website? More recently, in advertising Kate Moss’ Saint Tropez advert caused quite a stir, and what was Lara Stone’s nude portrait all about? Flesh is a political hot topic in an age of supposed liberating values, begging the question are we actually more prudish than our Victorian ancestors? But if we go back to legal issues surrounding Elton’s case -‐ perhaps it does depend on the context. Something that we discussed in my seminar was the eroticization of the body; despite our desensitised culture perhaps we see skin as more sexual nowadays, new media forms make 1lesh a lot more accessible and a lot more HD realistic. In contrast, the completely naked marble statue was not seen as an erotic 1igure, but one that enshrines independence and purity. For a perfect example of the cliched ‘grey

area’ between art and erotica, go to Taschen’s website (the proverbial Aladdin’s treasure trove of art books, which adorn coffee tables all over the country). Scroll down the categories, you start with ‘Architecture’, oh yep – there’s ‘Art’, of course you have your ‘Classics’, and then ‘Film’, then ‘Sexy books’, then…wait – what? Sexy Books encompass all manner of naughty tombs, complete with all volumes in The New Erotic Photography, and a book entitled ‘The Big Penis Book 3D’. Oh yes people, 3D. It seems that issues surrounding whether something is art or pornography is ultimately rooted around the central question – what is art itself? Perhaps the s a m e m a n t r a t h a t a p p l i e s t o a l l contemporary art applies to nudity if you can use ambiguous philosophical motifs, justify your concept, you can call whatever you do art, and go as bare as you dare. In all honesty, I have no concrete answer. I think you can 1ind art erotic, and that’s okay, but it becomes tricky in determining whether it’s a two way street, and whether something primarily erotic can project artistic value (or indeed, whether some contemporary art has any artistic value at all – still not convinced by the whole Emin and the bed chestnut). All I can say for certain is that in a time when Hull is named as the City of Culture, nothing is certain anymore…

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important life lessons courtesy of frida

{like the queen, only better}

usings from a 1inal year (non-‐art historian) student, trying to avoid exam revision through the cultural procrastination of the Frida Kahlo exhibition at the Scuderie del Quirinale in Rome # 1: there are never enough opportunities for a cheeky sel7ie Whilst we may frown our cultural brows down on the highly edited, makeup 1illed, pout shots that 1ill many a pre-‐teen’s Instagram account, Frida knows how to do this right. Whether accompanied by monkeys or … this feisty female is all about the power shot. And boy does she nail it! #2: facial hair is for the fearless Whether this be rocking an upper lip embellishment that sixteen year old boys can only dream of one day owning, or eschewing the tweezers in favour of a mono approach to the brow, Miss Kahlo puts those Latino roots to good use by cultivating instead of hiding her plentiful facial follicles. #3: no man no cry! With one of the overriding themes throughout her paintings being strength, it is also important to acknowledge the grief and isolation. Whilst her stern portraits may display images of a stoic heroine, Frida’s romantic tempestuous relationship with her husband, Mexican artist Diego Rivera has often be viewed as one of the producers of the sadness and isolation in her images. #4: injury stops no one (or at least no woman) Whilst her infamous bus crash may have been the lead reason Kahlo started painting it was also a great source of pain for the artist. Her changing relationship with her body is documented through her self-‐ portraits. Although a clear message of strength can be seen, particularly when referring to the fragile power of the female body. # 5: one is never too old or too ill to appear on the cover of Vogue This breath-‐taking photograph taken by Nickolas Murray, during the more dif1icult years of her illness, was used by Mexican Vogue in 2012 and is one of their ‘most celebrated’ cover images. # 6: dates of birth come and go, good anecdotes lasts forever Having claimed all her life that she was born in 1910 (conveniently the year the Mexican Revolution began), we can con1irm that Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón was actually born in 1907. But who can blame a girl for shaving a couple of years off her age, all in the aid of a top story for the dinner table. # 7: if you can’t 7ind a suitable movement to describe your style, just invent your own What we know use to describe Frida’s distinct style, Magical Realism, is actually a mixture of Revolutionary Paurperism, Stridentism and the better know Surrealism with Mexican folklore thrown in for good mix. Expect pictures infused with the country’s national identity, political strife and colours that embody Mexican popular culture. Renaissance eat your hear out!

“ please don’t

STOP the music.”

PLAYLIST: summer2014 1. HAIM -‐ hold me

2. MISS LI -‐ my heart goes boom

3. DUKE DUMONT ft. A*M*E -‐ need u (100%) 4. SOLANGE KNOWLES -‐ sandcastle disco 5. DISCLOSURE -‐ white noise ft. AlunaGeorge 6. IMAGINE DRAGONS, -‐radiocative 7. BASTILLE -‐ pomepii 8. METRIC -‐ sick muse 9. OF MONSTERS AND MEN -‐ dirty paws 10. NOW NOW -‐ dead oaks

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125 years of national geographic

this page: Mecca During Hajj, Saudi Arabia. Tom Abercrombie. opposite page: Afghan Girl, Steve McCurry.

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this page: Mecca During Hajj, Saudi Arabia. Tom Abercrombie. opposite page: Afghan Girl, Steve McCurry.

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FILM STRIP: horizons

singapore

india Â

manchester Â

malaysia Â

blast from the pastâ&#x20AC;Ś

o last night, while I was dancing away at mainly the tennis match and not Mr Murray’s a vintage themed electro-‐swing night Revs battered feet. turned to me and claimed “I was born in But onto more post-‐speci1ic topics, tennis is the wrong era…”. This small, seemingly harmless something that I think was a lot chicer in the past; comment added her to a shameful group in now before you jump down my throat I DO my mind as at least a dozen people had already NOT mean how the players play, there is no shared this confession earlier on in the evening. denying that Rafa, Rodge, Andy and Novak all play And to be honest it is starting to ware thin, sure I a technically amazing game. I am talking purely love a vintage clothes shop, the tangible result of a aesthetics, for as I look at the blue covered court, 1ilm camera and I’m a sucker for Motown music, Murray and Djokovic in garishly technical black but despite these I see myself as a purely modern and yellow ensembles, my nostalgia is so strong girl. Although no techno-‐geek I would feel that it could even apply to a few years ago when incomplete without my iPad or blackberry and I Murray was inevitably so much cooler on the love the fast-‐paced fashion industry and the court in Fred Perry. freedom and creativeness of current times. And this sentiment of nostalgia can be applied Having said this however, there are a few things across the board; wooden rackets, white cotton that I do agree were better in by-‐gone eras polo dresses, Green Flash, a straw sun hat. As seen The real inspiration for this post is the fact that it in these photos above, life on the tennis court was is Sunday morning, I am still in bed slightly a lot chicer when the photos were black and white recovering watching the Australian Open, as and the players barely even ran for the ball darling Andy gets some awful orange paste and (because sweating would be so beneath them lots of tape placed on his humungous blister. And right!). But what do you think, rose-‐tinted the whole affair really gets my blood pumping, hindsight or mere fact?

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advanced style: ari seth cohen

ne thing Revs forgot to mention in my bio is my complete obsession with fashionable old women. Mainly grey hair. I’m talking about the silver fox eccentrics of the world. Iris Apfel, Lanvin model Tziporah Salmon, Angela Lansbury, and Beatrix Ost. I strongly believe that I will reach my sartorial peak in my late 60s, when white-‐haired, saggy boobed and sunken cheeked, my grandchildren will see me as the most elegant women on the planet (or I will just end up like my own grandma who spends her life in navy tracksuit bottoms). Either way there is a steely con1idence that wizened women own which comes from years of creating and editing out1its; they now know which colours, shapes and styles suit them and being an OAP seems to

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exempt you from the need to follow fashion fads. Also the lack of body change, apart from the inevitable dropping effects of gravity, means that investing in well-‐cut pieces that last a long time is the easiest way to go. There is also a romantic side to the wrinkles and sun spots that represent a life well lived; that inner glow of having enjoyed the best years of your life, yet still 1inding small pleasure in the day-‐to-‐day banality of life. This rose-‐tinted vision of living off your pension is also shared by Ari Seth Cohen who created the blog Advanced Style, which is where I sourced these photos from. He was also responsible for the Karen Walker Ad campaign featuring some of his favourite leading ladies.

“ when i am old i shall wear

PURPLE with a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me”

going green Macaroons are something I have always wanted to attempt to make, they are beautifully delicate and delicious. However they require quite a lot of baking apparatus, so whilst stuck in a student house in Exeter I was condemned to the “all the ideas but none of the gear” group. Therefore whilst being at home I have vowed to make the most of Mamma B’s extensive tool kit and larder to bring you some of the edible goods I had been dreaming up. Inspired by my recent trip to China in which green tea shortbread was my favourite treat, I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and attempt green tea macaroons. Most of the

recipes I found called for a white chocolate 1illing, sadly I am allergic which ruled out that idea, so sticking to the green theme I thought limes would add a nice tang to the sweet subtlety of the biscuits.

INGREDIENTS (Makes around 24)

biscuits:

7illing:

100g almond powder 180g icing sugar 10g green tea 100g egg white (aprox 3) 40g caster sugar

100g butter 5g green tea 1tbsp lime juice 50ml milk 2 egg yolks 50g granulated sugar 10g lime zest

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part from having tentatively spied the Cray1ish and Avocado Salad on the rack of Pret a Manger (but never quite having the gall to risk the £4.25 and lunchtime feed on it), I hadn’t had much contact with cray1ish in my time. Thankfully, this gaping hole in the body of my gastronomic life-‐experience was recti1ied during my stint in Sweden this summer, and boy, was it recti1ied in style. August in Sweden is Cray1ish Party Season. Yeah, I hadn’t heard of it either, but it’s a cultural phenomenon I am hoping is going to sashay across Europe and trend in Britain, because it’s bloody good fun. If there is one thing the Swedes are known for, apart from detective novels and sleek design, it’s that they know how to throw a party. The Swedish cray1ish party is a national tradition which harks back centuries – I’m

pretty sure there is a line in the poem where, in between slaying dragons and restoring kingdoms, Beowulf knocks back a shot of schnapps and pays tribute to the cray1ish. Or drinks Meade and scuf1les with a sea monster. Whatever, same diff. Anyway, the essence to the party has always remained the same: you gather with friends, get very messy chowing down a lot of meaty cray1ish, sing songs and sink shots on average every 3 minutes – thus eventually the meal reduces into a blurry haze of a schnapps-‐induced d e l i r i u m , f o r y o u t o o n l y r e g a i n consciousness to a kicking headache the morning after. Sound blissful? Well, I have put together a starter guide for all you readers, so you can all throw your own cray1ish parties, and hopefully start the craze here across the pond!

HOW TO: throw a crayfish party

Lesson #1 Stock up on Supplies

So you know how there is a big woop every year over the University league tables, and the Premier league in football? Well in Sweden there is a league table for cray1ish (crackers, I know) – so head out early if you want the leanest, meanest little suckers that were dragged out the sea this year.* *Note: this only really applies if you are IN Sweden, if you reside in the UK for the duration of your party, standard supermarket precautions apply [Read: M&S if you want to impress, Aldi if you want food poisoning, and Iceland if you don't actually want cray 1ish meat.]

Lesson #2 Prepare

If you haven’t bought the cray1ish fresh then remember to actually defrost them – then you won’t get yourself in the situation we did…

Lesson #3 Ready, Steady, Cook!

As ours were already cooked all we had to do was heat them up over the hob – and to be honest I don’t know much about cooking seafood, so if you went out and bought them fresh, and don’t know how to cook them, I will point you in the direction of Google.

Lesson #4 The Trimmings

In true Swedish tradition we adorned the cray1ish with towering bowls of meatballs, a cheesy quiche dish and boiled potatoes. Not a sprig of rocket is to be in sight. [Note: This meal is not for the calorie-‐shunning, you need the stodge otherwise the schnapps will ensure you won't even make it to dessert]

Lesson #5 Set the Scene

Cray1ish adorned paraphernalia is required, and in Sweden the shops are stocked full of merchandise. However, you may struggle to get these things in the UK, so just make sure you have napkins, party hats, shot glasses and BIBS (whilst it may clash with your glad rags, you will thank the bib later for saving your new Zara top from cray1ish juice – eating is a very messy affair!)

Lesson #6 Pop some bottle tops and begin the feast!

Water isn’t allowed at the table. You may choose either beer or wine to quench your thirst, and the Schnapps of course. [Note: when I am referring to 'Schnapps' I do not mean the peachy stuff you drink when you are fourteen to wash down the Lamborini -‐ this stuff is the real deal] Understandably this means that the civilised images didn’t last for too long. Remember that schnapps-‐induced delirium I mentioned earlier? ….

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student spaces: babs

ot enough is made of rooms; they do after all provide the setting for our lives to unfold, and this is especially the case for one’s bedroom where we inevitably spend most of our time. Bedrooms are an extremely intimate space, being the only place where, since we graduated from the crib, we have been able to call completely our own and shape it how we like. They are molded by our experiences, passions and tastes, and have held a constant fascination for us Culture Vultures.

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University provides the opportunity for students to completely recreate their personal bubble, and while that 1irst confrontation of a sparse, blank canvas is intimidating, many have become creative in how to make their student rooms more homely. Through this series we intend to pay homage to some of our favorites that we come across. Now seeing as exposing your bedroom is pretty much on par with baring your soul, it’s only fair to start with our own, and today we are looking at Babs’s…

student spaces: mr hughes T

his week Culture Vultures were lucky enough to catch up with political mastermind and token-‐welsh-‐man Jono Hughes for a tour of his stylish yet re1ined room. Jono is a bit of a BNOC [Big Name on Campus] in Exeter as a key member of the politics society, and more generally for being quite a funny guy (Yes! I can feel his head swelling as I write this). Whilst he is Welsh he is lucky enough to be dating a gorgeous Italian, she lives in Rome but comes from Tuscany, which

scores extra points in my book; so for our readers across the pond [which realistically may only be my parents] you should notice the Italian in1luence shining through. One of the main reasons I love Jono’s room is that it is colourful and welcoming without feeling cluttered, the space isn’t huge but I think he does a lot with it; although it does help that he is obsessively tidy (he reassured us that his room always looks this methodical).

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mo’monday N

ow I may be an anomaly, so I forewarn all male-‐gendered readers out there this opinion might not apply to every member of the fairer breed, but I. Love. Movember. I am a November-‐born Scorpio, and think that there is no better celebration for the month of my birth than men everywhere uniting and growing appalling facial hair to raise awareness for testicular cancer – really, I ask, what’s not to like? Now I admit, I might be biased in my opinions: Firstly, because I do not have a boyfriend. Therefore the annual embarrassment of introducing a normally respectable young man, who of recent days resembles more of an Eastern European Porn Star, does not apply. And secondly, because I am then not morally obliged in kissing said-‐Porn-‐Star-‐lookalike, even if it does result in a painful and ugly face rash. (For those of you out there who do, may I suggest E45 cream as a soothing antidote? But stock up now at Boots as it is sure to run out within the 1irst two weeks of this Holy month.) Furthermore, thanks to my Y Chromosome I am not subject to the double-‐edged sword of humiliation that Movember can serve up. Every year I ask myself which is worse: being able to cultivate a full-‐1ledged tasch and therefore being stuck with it for the long 31-‐day period, or embarrassingly still, having to explain in social situations why three weeks in your facial follicles still only resemble a Sunday Shadow. And they said puberty was unkind! However of recent years the moustache has somehow morphed into a fashion accessory. A facial preference of the Shoreditch inhabiting, 1ixey bike riding, media generation that is “So East London”. And if it is good enough for them

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then surely it is good enough for us, so onto the positives of this stubbly season… Firstly, for men, peacocking will become a piece of cake. No need for elaborate dress codes, fancy accessories or the purchasing of props… all you need is your furry facial friend and the con1idence to milk it! [Side note for females: it is also a perfect conversation starter, or awkward situation avoider as every guy will happily wax on for hours about why they chose that particular style of moustache, how shaving is so radically different when it only involves you cheeks, or the many examples of Mo-‐envy they have encountered in the 1irst week alone.] Secondly, I see the Movember Moustache as a badge (of honour? if you will) that a man can wear for one month of the year, in which his face tells the world “I am X, a fun-‐loving guy who doesn’t take himself or his appearance too seriously. However I am compassionate and understanding to the struggle of others, and not afraid to show my support in a public manner.” And I challenge you to 1ind a girl out there who wouldn’t swipe right to X on Tinder with a pro1ile like that! And on that note I have to admit that I am a little sad that my gender excludes me from the Mo Crew. And having rejected the offer from my housemate for us both to draw a moustache on our face every day in a sign of solidarity, another year passes in which I can only encourage all you brave males out there. And who knows, maybe in years to come modern technology and improving social stigmas will allow women to happily don a tash and the photo I can post up here will be of myself, probably still single, but at least with a strip of hair above my lip for company. Better than cats right?

Helena Bonham Carter Mert & Marcus. Vogue, July 2013

WHAT IS THE MOST ICONIC IMAGE IN THE WORLD?

♥

n unusually enjoyable grad scheme application posed me this question the other day, and for an entire week a few minutes I was pretty stumped. A reel of images kept sporadically 1lashing through my head: Audrey rocking the cigarette holder, the Eiffel Tower, the McDonalds’ logo, Marilyn straddling a grate, road signs, a young girl feeling napalm, Kitchener, Che Guevara… But it didn’t ask what one of the most iconic images in the world was, but requested THE most iconic. Now, as anyone who has ever met me will probably know, I posses an innate derision for anything vaguely sappy (read: any form of PDA, Taylor Swift lyrics, overtly sentimental social media messages, Love Story – the list is endless). Therefore, it almost pained me to draw my instinctual conclusion to this question, but the evidence is indisputable. A schoolgirl cathartically carving into a desk, the lucky hand in a poker game, a medieval coat of arms, tablet-‐shaped sweets, Milton Glaser’s pop-‐style epithets proudly

emblazoned across t-‐shirts worldwide; it’s inescapable: the love heart is everywhere. No one knows where it came from, but popular culture has rendered the love heart eternal; it’s not just a seasonal Valentine motif to be 1ired from porky Cupid’s bow. Given the fact the love heart graphic looks nothing like it’s anatomical actuality, it’s done pretty well for itself and has remained doggedly persistent in our 1ickle and icon-‐ saturated age. The love heart has been manipulated to connote many things; a breaking heart, love struck, lovesick, loving, to love. The typing of those two keys, <3, can channel a complex series of emotions from nerve endings into digital cyberspace, projecting an expression of love from Paris to Berlin. Those two lines curving in geometrical grace kissing at the apex can be interpreted anywhere, by (almost) anyone. The image connotes that most complex human emotion that’s evaded the capability of even the most honey-‐ tongued poets; it seems we got to the stage where we decided if we can’t adequately talk about love, we’d better draw it.

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what is the most iconic image in the world? [PART II]

this page: Salvador Dali with Women Forming A Skull photographed by Phillipe Halsman, 1951. opposite page: The Curate Collection, Skull Style

nlike “is there any milk left in the fridge” and “what appalling concoction did I drink last night that resulted in this horri1ic headache”, the question posed in this article is not one that regularly troubles me. However a couple of weeks ago, as oppose to the regular dinner discussions of politics and current affairs (read: ex-‐halls gossip and complaints about our degrees), my house were united in a joint quest to identify the world’s most iconic image. This mission was not one of self-‐ful1ilment or even for enjoyment; it had a purpose behind it. The raison d’etre for solving this problem and to the highest possible standard was to secure one of my settlement sisters a grad job at the best advertising agency in the country. Meaning this answer could possibly be the difference between her living the yuppie, cosmopolitan dream in London or moving back home with her parents in

Maidstone. So as you can tell, there was a lot resting on it. Sadly at the time my contributions were limited, whilst she wrote an eloquent piece on the icon of a heart all I could think of was the McDonalds’s ‘M’ or the Christian cross; both very endocentric answers when put up against the global appeal of the most important organ. The French have a term, l’esprit d’escalier, literally translating to “staircase wit”, but in reality it de1ines that frustration we all feel when we come up with the perfect response to a question days after it has been posed. Therefore for me this article has taken the form of self-‐indulgent cathartic therapy, in which I have given myself the arduous task of attempting to answer the above question. Just with a little less pressure than the previous situation, because this time nobody’s future is on the line, just my pride and your time well spent…

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hilst the love heart is unquestionably iconic, the image I am suggesting as the ultimate superlative is the ying to its yang. Although they are both b a s e d o n o u r a n a t o m y , w h i l s t m y housemate’s conveyed messages of love and vitality, in juxtaposition mine is all doom and death. This graphic effortlessly links prostitution in Elizabethan England, Nazi SS insignia and Venetian painters alike. Its 1lag can be 1lown anywhere from a small child’s fantasy ship to a boat infamous for acts of robbery and criminal violence. This cranium based creation, when used to label a small glass bottle of liquid can often be the big difference between life or death, also pays a starring role in one of William S’s most famous soliloquies. As I am sure you have all guessed by now, the image I am referring to is of course the skull. Although not one know to adorn Hallmark cards, or be the 1irst choice of doodlers at the back of Geography class, the skull has received a revival in recent years mainly due to the fashion maverick that was Alexander McQueen. No longer reserved to the jackets of Harley Davidson driving, tattooed, middle-‐ aged outlaws, now the skull inhabits the wardrobes of society’s chicest and richest. Whether it be printed numerous times in varying colours on a square of silk softer than butter, or sculpted out of gold and encrusted with the 1inest diamonds, perching delicately on top of the knuckle duster handle of a two grand clutch, this skull signi1ies Britannia, grunge and consumerism all at once. However it is not only the fashion world that has long had a love affair with the bare bones

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that protect our brain, anyone with an inch of knowledge about art should be able to reel off numerous famous depictions of the skull at ease. And for those of you that can’t may I suggest Pyramid of Skulls by Cezanne? Or how about a rebellious and dramatic piece by Van Gogh in which, as the name states, he beautifully portrays a Skull of a skeleton with burning cigarette? If these big names didn’t do it for you then how about Picasso’s still life, in which the skull is placed in great company alongside a leek and a pitcher. Or Dali for the modern art a1icionados in which the naked form effortlessly illustrates the curvaceous nature of this hunk of osseous matter. And as a girl who grew up in Rome I can tell you that the city is scattered with Catacombs in which monks of the past decided that skulls of ancestors made perfect trinkets when decorating new premises. All I need to say is you haven’t lived until you have seen a lampshade made out of 2nd century bone. This however is child’s play when comparing them to the Polish ‘Chapel of Skulls’, Czermna in Kudowa-‐ Zdrój. The examples given so far are all very Eurocentric, but the skull has been an interior design choice across the world. In Mesoamerican architecture stacks of skulls were used to present human sacri1ice, and amongst the Indian population skull necklaces are worn to remind people of ‘memento morti’ [that you must die], so basically a more sophisticated version of a #YOLO tattoo. And you only had to look to the recent 1iesta that was Halloween to understand the obsession we all have with the Mexican festival ‘Día de Muertos’. It’s easy to say that these overly decorated skulls have knocked slutty zombie off the top costume choice charts.

o there you have it, an iconic image that globally represents life and death; whether that be on Tibetan bead bracelets, post-‐Bubonic plague posters reinforcing how short life can be or as an integral part of the Kabbalah’s Tree of Life. It can represent the ultimate in clandestineness when used as an icon for secret societies (cough, cough – Masonry), and has been the long standing face of both Halloween and Heavy Metal. It can excite and kill, delight and dissatisfy, and if it’s good enough for Jolly Old Rodger then it should be good enough for us!

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china:

a dual perspective

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HANGZHOU. babs in china

•  o I am no longer writing from cold •  wet Exeter, I am in fact speaking to you from colder-‐wetter China! I am currently doing a three-‐week study exchange at Zejiang University, in the city of Hangzhou (a beautiful place just an hour south west of Shanghai). But with the social media bans out here and Internet coming and g o i n g f r e q u e n t l y a n d w i t h o u t explanation I can only assume that I will struggle to blog regularly. However Revs and I are doing our best to make this whole long distance thing work, so here is post number one from astounding Asia. For those of you who have never heard of Hangzhou (so basically everyone except my daddy, who excessively researches everywhere I visit) the city is famous all over China for its natural beauty, mainly because it is home to the West Lake. Commonly known to the Chinese as “heaven on earth”, I was lucky enough to visit this achingly picturesque park this morning and take a boat ride around the river. [You may recognise is as one of the lakes that frequently features in Chinese landscape art.] Apparently spring is the best time to visit this region as the blossom is out and the weather is normally (although conveniently not when I’m visiting), pleasantly warm and sunny. In old legends there are two best times to visit the lake, 1irstly during a sunny day

when the colours are vibrant and the water is glistening, and secondly when a storm is brewing and the mist mutes the colours. As you can guess from my photos I witnessed the latter, however I kept telling myself that the weather added mystery to the photos and that during a sunny day the photos might turn out too cliché and desktop-‐ background-‐esque (people will say anything to themselves in the pouring rain and freezing cold!) After my serene visit I had a polar opposite experience as I went into downtown Hangzhou to visit He Fang Ancient Street. This tourist hotspot is well known amongst locals as the “place to buy souvenirs for the people you hate!” Good old Chinese humour. And whilst that explanation was a lot to live up to, I found the street quite endearing, although this could be the typical 1irst-‐time-‐in-‐china tourist’s approach. The street sells everything, with shops ranging from sexy silk nightdresses, to traditional Chinese tea mugs, many a tea emporium, herbal remedy stores with hidden gardens behind and even a stall selling rubber chickens whose purpose I am still yet to 1igure out. So now I must call it an early night as I have an early morning Tai-‐ji class and who know what that entails. Until next time when I hope to have more photos and even some Chinese phrases to throw your way!!

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SHANGHAI: FROM HO TO CEO B

ecause academic summer exchanges are clearly my passion, I have just come back from a stint on the Study China program, where I was based at East China Normal University in Shanghai. And I thought I had better write a post to tell you all about it, and enlighten you on what’s going down in China. But you see, Shanghai is a bit of a tough one to condense into a blog post. I’ve actually been sat here for the past 1ive minutes, staring at an intimidatingly blank screen, and getting steadily more irritated with the little blinking cursor. STOP BLINKING. My Chinese politics tutor [oh yeah, I had a Chinese politics tutor, swish] warned us of this geographical writers-‐block in our last lesson. He said something along the lines of : “If you go to China for a few weeks you will struggle to describe what it’s like when you go home, if you go to China for over a year words will really fail you, and if you go to China for more than ten years you won’t even bother trying.” Well I actually was only there for three weeks, so that little surmise doesn’t exactly give me a get out of jail free card, but you get the gist. It’s a bloody complex country. With a population larger than the size of Europe, and with cultural and linguistic differences splintering regions into virtually separate countries, one of the main hot topics we debated whilst out there was why hasn’t China split into a series of smaller nations? Or at least, a loosely grouped federation? Someone from the north wouldn’t be able to communicate with someone from the south (even though they both speak Mandarin), and where do Hong Kong and Taiwan 1it in? Oh, and don’t mention Tibet. And take the Chinese food we have back home, that’s Cantonese, you’ll only 1ind

it in a small region in the south. See what I mean? Complex. Any personal preconceptions I had of China was ashamedly limited; my previous brain time for the Chinese was reserved to acknowledging the fact they do good take-‐out, walk irritatingly slowly around campus, rock the peace pose, and were also going to take over the planet. The likes of The Economist (because I de1initely read The Economist…) is painting China to be one, big, hungry pubescent, whose rapidly growing appetite is gobbling up Africa and will/ has ousted ‘The West’ from it’s comfy seat of global power [*que Mike Old1ield's Tubular Bells]. One aspect which is interesting, is how China is having to adapt its communist ideology to justify its increasingly capitalist economic policy. Sadly my experience out in ‘The Orient’ was limited to just seeing Shanghai, but thankfully that means this post can be reduced to describing my time out there, rather than constructing a geopolitical assessment of the whole of modern China [I can see you all breathe a sigh of relief]. As covered in the title of this post, Shanghai has expertly navigated itself away from it’s previous sleazy ‘Whore of the Orient’ rep of the 1930′s. Ever since, despite a slight blip during the post-‐ war-‐yay-‐for-‐socialism-‐screw-‐the-‐world decades, it has truly become an international hub, linking a notoriously closed off China to the rest of the globe. Now Babs covered a lot of what has to be said about Shanghai in our previous post – so I am going to fall back in that overtly quoted phrase which has got many a kid through blagging a school report ‘a picture says a thousand words’. So roll the camera!

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