Category Archives: art

Art, Subjectivity and What Makes Art “Good”?

Recently, I’ve been chewing over how we value and judge art, and how we talk about it effectively. I wrote a piece touching on some of these issues, and an edited version was published over at PolicyMic. I’ve included it here in full, plus a couple of great links to other articles:

Sometimes when visiting galleries or museums, I find myself wondering why a piece was included. Whenever I’d sense I was looking at something not good, or poorly executed, or gratuitous, a nagging concern that I was not educated or qualified enough to evaluate the work would persuade me to accept it. This seemed reasonable at the time; after all, I am a Western millennial, raised to believe that art is essentially subjective and undefinable.

In the contemporary art world, anything goes. I am not criticizing this aspect of contemporary art, but stating the obvious. For this reality, we can mostly thank Marcel Duchamp and his ideological contemporaries. Though the Impressionists got the ball rolling, Duchamp became one of the most famous artists to proclaim that art is whatever the artist says it is. (You don’t have to know any art history to understand the point I’m making, but it is good context if you’re interested.) Jimmy Kimmel did a hilarious satire of this idea (though in a different, more commercial industry) with his Fashion Week Lie Witness News skit:

When it first came to popularity, this idea of anything as art was radical. It gave us a lot of opportunity to experiment, to play, to remove ourselves as creatives from the boundaries of “art” as defined by the cultural elite.

The idea that the artist defines the artwork and creates art simply by declaring it as such diminished the viewer’s experience with the artwork, and eroded the authority of the viewers’ perspective. In this belief system, the artist has the ultimate trump card: “you don’t understand.” Conversation over, and viewer hushed, if not quite shamed into silence.

This eventuality is exactly why people are timid about expressing their opinions about art if they have a lick of sense (this from art school experience), and why casual art consumers leave it to so-called and sometimes self-proclaimed experts to tell us what is art.

Life is by all methods of measurement a subjective experience, and yet, we still trust in the ability of people to percieve, evaluate and share their perceptions in journalism, in storytelling, in history, in law and in science. Why should it be any different in art? It is the responsiblity of the artist, the scientist, the historian to perceive, evaluate, and convey those analyses.

What do you think of this? (Brancusi's "The Kiss")
What do you think of this? (Brancusi’s “The Kiss”)

We also gave up our ability to judge art when we accepted the idea that art could be whatever the artist said it was, because the idea of good or bad became completely irrelevant. If you “don’t understand” something, you cannot evaluate whether it’s good or bad, even in a relative sense.

Entrepreneur Paul Graham wrote an interesting article on his blog many moons ago about how art can be good, which I recommend. Though I don’t agree with everything he writes, he raises some excellent points.

This pseudo-utopian ideal that all art is good art is seductive, but ultimately limiting. It is limiting because if it is impossible to create good art, then any art is as good and as important and as enlightening as any other. And if it’s all the same, then as a creator and a consumer, why bother with effort? Post-modern and contemporary art are crafting their own answers to that question, but those answers are beginning to feel like dead ends to me. I will be elaborating on these “dead ends” later, but I will say that the emphasis on process in contemporary art is a conceptually consistent though reductive eventuality of the idea of “anything as art”.

I’m not arguing that there are absolute evaluations of good art. I am instead saying that I believe there are absolute qualities of good art. Good art makes us aware of that by connecting people, by sharing vision and experience. If a piece of art genuinely moves only one person, it is still good art. If it moves many people, it might be great art. If it moves you only because you think that it ought to, then it is time to start thinking about why. This does involve a Pollyanna-ish expectation of self-awareness and belief in the ability to people to be self-confident in their own perspectives. At the very least, it requires thoughtfulness.

Art should not be bewildering, or impenetrable – it is as universal as any individual human experience writ large. Art is a shared conversation, a conceptually public debate.  People should feel empowered to evaluate art and call it like they see it, without their evaluation targeting them as unenlightened, as long as the evaluation is developed and defensible. “You don’t understand” isn’t a defense, for anyone. Instead, let’s try “show me.”

A major part of what I’m saying is this: if you can’t see the emperor’s clothes, it is most definitely okay to say so.

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Laissez les bon temps rouler,

kls

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Let’s Talk About AlunaGeorge’s “Body Music”

alunageorge

Today, the London duo that is AlunaGeorge (Aluna Francis and George Reid) dropped their much-anticipated album, Body Music. I credit this stellar playlist by DonRaphaelAli on 8tracks for turning me on to them. It’s slinky, sexy and got me through most of this winter and frigid spring. Dare you not to adore it, especially if James Blake, Ghost Poet and The Weeknd happen to live pretty high on your list. “Your Drums, Your Love” is the song that got me hooked:

I have trouble describing their work without over-describing it. Let’s just say that there’s something  gorgeous and vulnerable about what they’re doing. Maybe they play in a key that resonates with certain folks particularly and I’m lucky enough to be one of them. My impression of their work, and popular reaction to it, is that it’s delightfully delicious and digestible.

I read today in Lorrie Moore’s stunning short story, People Like That Are the Only People Here, that “The trip and the story of the trip are always two different things. The narrator is the one who has stayed him but then, afterward, pressers her mouth upon the traveler’s mouth, in order to make the mouth work, to make the mouth say, say, say. One cannot go to a place and speak of it, one cannot both see and say, not really. One can go, and upon returning make a lot of hand motions and indications with the arms.  The mouth itself, working at the speed of light, at the eye’s instructions, is necessarily struck still; so fast, so much to report, it hangs open and dump as a gutted bell. All that unsayable life! That’s where the narrator comes in. The narrator comes with her kisses and mimicry and tidying up. The narrator comes and makes a slow, fake song of the mouth’s eager devastation.” (Best American Short Stories: 1998, p.207 – 208)

Is your heart swollen yet?

I hate to admit that Moore may be onto something there; cultural writing and critique very often falls into the echo-chamber category. Very few cultural critics and ambassadors manage to bring original insight to the table, and seem to chatter only for themselves.

With bands like AlunaGeorge, which are currently in that buzzy phase, I hesitate to say much for exactly this reason. My advice: get the album and listen for yourself. While you’re at it, take a gander at the below tracks for some more beautiful work. Then get on to a bit of your own sonic explorations.

1. Cyril Hahn’s remix of Destiny’s Child’s “Say My Name”

Just yes.

2. Open, by Rhye

My March and April were entirely about Rhye’s album Woman, and this song particularly. The entire album is intricate, sensual, fleeting and forever. The video takes away from the song in a major way, so I didn’t include it. It’s here, if you’re interested.

Here also is a longer set of Rhye songs, courtesy of the FADER:

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xx

kls

Street Art and Seasons

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A couple of patterns struck me today, and from them I drew a couple of inferences. I know that correlation does not imply causation, but I’ll let you decide whether these theories hold water.

I’ve noticed a spike in street art and tags around my little corner of Chapel Hill and Carrboro, NC, and it seems to coincide with the emergence of the sun. Outdoor art responds to the weather, of course, so it’s not exactly a genius deduction. I’m outside quite a bit, regardless of the weather, because of the nature of this town. It got me wondering whether street art culture flourishes more in sunnier, or more temperate climes. Or whether it is more tied to civil unrest, as many claim. I’m open to opinions.

A second thing came to me as I was criticizing the trend of misspellings in musician and band names. I wonder if artists chose misspelled names to benefit their Internet presence. They can probably get a website name more easily with a misspelled name, and maybe establish a unique identity. Again, only a theory.

Well, that’s probably enough of that for today. Stay gold.

xx

kls

More Love at the Ackland: Art, Politics and Sharing Since the 1990s

mortarandpestle

Something beautiful is happening at the Ackland Art Museum today: the much-anticipated More Love: Art, Politics and Sharing Since the 1990s exhibit is opening. Featuring art by Yoko Ono, Louise Bourgeois, Tracy Emin and Felix Gonzalez-Torres (among many fantastically talented others), the exhibit is a real exploration into different kinds of love and its expression.

The idea of sharing, of externalizing the internal, is central to the More Love exhibit. While it’s about sharing in the traditional sense, it also discusses the idea of sharing in the context of new technology and breaking the boundaries of time and space.

The above image incorporates two fantastic pieces in the show. The piece of candy is a part of Dario Robleto’s Untitled piece from 1972. In every installation of Robleto’s piece through the years, a pile of candy is built and viewers are invited to take a piece as they pass. The second piece is the photograph in the background, Janine Antoni’s Mortar and Pestle (1996, chromogenic print). In the photo, the artist is licking her husband’s eyeball. It’s borderline inappropriate and mildly transgressive, visceral and endlessly compelling. The show involves many pieces like these, which are multidimensional in concept and bold in their expressiveness.

I had the chance to talk to Claire Schneider, the consulting curator for the show, about the overall vision. “In the 1960s, it was all about love as commonality,” she said. “In the 2000s, it became love as individuality. Now it’s all about coming back together with our differences.”

Her insight informs the entire show, from the pieces chosen to the overall orchestration of the viewing experience.

She said she wanted to explore the contemporary thought about love, including its social justice elements, without the cheap sentimentality of most pop culture’s expressions of love.

“This is all conceptual art about emotion,” Schneider said.

I was so fond of so many of the pieces; I’ll certainly return. I especially loved Yoko Ono’s piece, “Time To Tell Your Love,” a collection of under-lit prisms that threw light all across the walls. While supplies last, viewers can have a picture taken of themselves expressing their love, and they’ll receive a prism in return. I got one! (I also accidentally broke my first one. Typical.)

yoko ono

Yoko Ono’s Time To Tell Your Love, glass prisms and tower, light. 

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I also loved Dario Robleto’s Coated Love Letters, which are love letters he’d saved over the years, put into pill form. It’s honest, taking the viewer back to the middle school roots of their lovingness.

dario

This show is honestly worth a visit, or 20. I’m still working on how to express it appropriately. I’ve been to a lot of exhibits, but this one is really special.

I can still remember what it felt like to have Julian Schwartz’ Affirmations, a sound installation, murmur over me. When you find the perfect spot on the floor, it sound like 72 people are whispering their answers to the question, “What could someone say to you that would make you feel completely loved (acknowledged, understood, respected, cared for, attractive, embraced, supported, safe, cherished…)?” right into your ears. It was entrancing. Receiving intangible hugs from strangers is a beautiful experience.

Go. You’ll be glad you did.

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Hie thee hence, and laissez les bon temps rouler,

the girl

papa ibra tall: hot fresh then & now

pit

Papa Ibra Tall was a Senegalese artist, influenced by Negritude and French modernism. Papa Ibra Tall is the one. I love his lines, his colors, his overall aesthetic. Tall’s work is refreshingly non-derivative.

If Tom Robbins’ books were to be illustrated, Tall could do them. His paintings explore the connection and interplay between spaces and shapes, the proportion, the balance, the movement across the page, the overall experience as it interacts with the supreme detail of his pieces. That’s how Robbins’ writing is. Both are unconventional, both create art that involves or references many of the senses.

I love lines and appreciate linearity, and Papa Ibra Tall’s lines are one of a kind. This pseudo-collage, super luxurious feel of his images, bodies them up and saturates them. I think I’ve gushed publicly about Egon Schiele (gasp x 1000, so beautiful*), and I’m starting to feel this way about Tall. However, where Schiele’s pieces are intensely physical, Tall’s paintings feel almost otherworldly.  Unlike Schiele, the boundaries of Tall’s lines and planes are precise, and his colors saturated. Tall’s use of dots and other geometric details to build a multi-layered picture is also unique.  The effect on the page is also very different; Schiele’s work is involved, convoluted, very much about the internal monologue of whoever he’s depicting. There’ve a short story feel about them. Tall’s paintings convey a different narrative. His paintings are never about just one person, even if there’s only one person in the picture, because his paintings are about his subjects in relation to other environmental factors. Tall’s images tell a myth, a legend, an epic. The tonalities and the imagery remind me of an illustrated collection of fairytales that I read as a child.

old houses in krumau

* It ought to be noted that Schiele has some tendencies toward exploitation/voyeurism in his portraits of women. Someone who is hyper-physical, as Schiele is (just look at his treatment of the human form for proof) is hyper-physical in many ways. I’m not excusing it, but instead saying that it might be the flip side of a coin.

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Laissez les bon temps rouler,

the girl

Advice About Creating Art, From Ira Glass

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Recently I received (indirectly) beautiful, inspirational advice from Ira Glass, the brains and the glasses behind NPR’s “This American Life.” This advice is really valuable, really important to keep in mind.

Video by David Shiyang Liu

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xx

kls

when we were kings: a response

Muhammad Ali vs. George Foreman, in the Congo, in the 1970s. It would be nearly impossible for this to be a bad movie. Luckily for us, it’s better than good. It’s intoxicating.

What I would like to dissect a bit is the spectacle of it all, mostly because that’s the most compelling aspect. Ali’s persona is so bold, even overwhelming, and so charming. As a viewer, you cannot help but love him. When he gets riled up and yells “I’m Gonna. We Gonna. I’m Gonna!” after the match is postponed, it’s just so beautiful and so boundless. The addition of characters like James Brown and Don King to the mix make the story that much more dynamic.

“What a fighter, what a man,” George Plimpton follows. Plimpton! Norman Mailer adds in a quality anecdote that I’ll let you watch the movie to discover. (!!! Journalistic idols !!!)

ali

That is, to me, a beautiful sentiment and a simple way of capturing what it is about these men and this fight that was so appealing. Fighting can be barbaric, and I usually don’t care much for it. But in this context, with these men, it’s amazing. Their guts, their devotion are fully on display.

The whole experience seems to have fostered a kind of intellectual revival and reinvestment in the black African experience among black Americans (and white Americans). If not a revival, then a coming-to, a re-appreciation for it. These men drop some fantastic knowledge-bombs, when they say things like “You are all alone when you become unnecessary,” and “We are coming back to Africa in splendor and scintillating glory.”

Yes, it’s about a fight, but it’s about an icon of a new black identity and a new African awareness. Ali says it best when he describes that, if he were up there alone, he would be afraid.

Instead, Ali says, he has all of the people of the Congo and Africa behind him, and his God with him. How can I be scared? Ali asks. My God controls the universe.

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Laissez les bon temps rouler,

the girl

malick sidibe and street style photography

malick sidibe

Malick Sidibé’s images have an aesthetic and a sensibility that I just adore. His images are just so cool. 

Sidibé, a Malian photographer active in the latter half of the 20th century, focused on Bamako culture and style. Sidibé’s images are intentionally candid, and bound up in the popular culture of Mali at the time. (Seydou Keita is another Malian photographer that must be mentioned. Due to their similar geography and emphasis on portraiture, are oft compared. Their popularity at different times reflects different interpretations of a changing Mali.)

In these photos, we begin to see a global, rather than a regional, youth culture. It should be noted that the glorification of Western culture among youths does have some pretty gnarly neocolonial and commercial implications. But from the pictures, at least, it seems like this youth movement was a liberating, unifying trend. Through this sharing of culture, young people in Mali could associate with young people around the world, feel empowered, and become part of a movement. It’s this kind of perspective that creates momentum and ultimately, a zeitgeist.

sidibe

Malick Sidibé, Merengue dancer, 1964

Looking at Sidibé’s beautiful imagery of youth culture in Mali, particularly the ones of people dancing, I can almost hear the music and feel what that place would have been like.

That’s the beauty of great photography: it can take the viewer to a setting in a way that few other art forms can.

“Malick Sidibe’s photographs enable us to revisit the youth culture of the 1960s and our teenage years in Bamako.” – Manthia Diawara

I got interested in whether there’s a contemporary equivalent to this kind of photography. I’m interested in seeking these equivalencies, not because I believe that they must be there, but because I think they can shed light on one another. Learn history, or be doomed to repeat it, I reckon.

I’m not sure that there is; that is, I’m not sure that there’s one photographer working on documenting this age of people and particular culture. However, I think that’s because there are so many more subcultures now. With the Internet, people around the world can connect with other young people, and create a strong community; I’m thinking of the psy-trance dance community that was just covered hilariously in VICE UK (I know VICE is raunchy but it can be awesome).

It seems possible that street style blogs are a rough modern-day equivalent. They document the look and feel of a place semi-candidly, much like Sidibé did, though with an emphasis particularly on the fashion instead of the overall culture. With street style blogs, there is also not quite the emphasis on youth culture, but the culture of a location. This may actually be more in line with what Sidibé was doing anyway. He documented people of all ages, though his depictions of the youth are most famous- possibly because of their neocolonial implications. These street style blogs capture the cutting-edge sensibility of a place as described in fashion, and help share it with an interested global community. While it’s certainly not the same things as what Sidibé did, photographers like Bill Cunningham of the NYT style section and Steve Schuman of The Sartorialist (though they’re in very, very different veins), are documenting in a way that Sidibé would understand.

Union Square, New York

Union Square, New York :: The Sartorialist

For all of them, it’s about movement, about personal expression, and about energy.

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And a pinch to grow on:

Malian music is generally awesome. Multi-layered percussive rhythms and dense melodies, often with a strong single vocalist, all add up to a beautiful sound experience. Here’s a contemporary Malian singer, Fatoumata Diawara, who has good energy and a neat sound:

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Laissez les bon temps rouler,

the girl

what’s good

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A day late and a dollar short, deep in the summer’s inevitable introspections, I had a realization: I’ve allowed my tastes to be not just directed but shaped by others’ opinions. I think in following others’ lead, I lost some of my own sensibilities. While aesthetics, zeitgeists, shift through time I’d experienced more than that. I was looking at different kinds of artists, diving into different kinds of music, criticizing different sorts of things. One hundred thousand adages can tell you things like “Be Yourself” but it takes a preoccupation with trends to feel the need to remind yourself. With that in mind, I’m dissecting some trends and in the process, calling bull on myself where necessary.

As an aside: My friends are interesting and my age is of the inter webs, which I took for granted earlier but feel the need to declare now. The highlighted trends that will be relevant to the discussion, because it is likely common ground and visible, are from the world wide web.

1. Rap/Hip-Hop, depending on what definition you prefer: I do love the music, appreciate the style, the whole nine yards. I’m into it. But let’s be real here, Kitty Pryde is not a high-quality rapper. Whatever arguments you can make for Kitty Pryde, or Lil B, or whoever Twitter’s #rapperoftheweek is, I’ve made them. I’ve listened to them being made, paid attention and if not agreed, at least acknowledged. The fact that, at this stage of her career, she’s anything more than a very minor blip on the radar screen proves the point that it’s a trend. Lil B, whose enthusiasm and general goodwill I am fond of, or Kitty Pride, whose style I despise but cadence/flow I begrudgingly enjoy (look at me still justifying myself), gain a fan base and that’s great. Power to them. I’m not here to take away anything from their accomplishments. But I am here to say that 1. it’s a trend, and 2. this type of music industry doesn’t produce high-quality artists. When every sound can be sold, there’s not value to being good. There’s only value in being different. Which is fine if different and new is all you want, but I’d rather 100 Frank Ocean and early The Weeknds then 1,000 Kreayshawns and Lil Bs. While we’re at it, I like soulful music and I love old-school country. While Taylor Swift makes my ears bleed, sign me up forever for Johnny Cash and Justin Townes Earles and Willy Nelson and the soulful stuff.

2. Internet art: The accessibility of the internet is its greatest asset. But so-called internet art is lazy. By internet art, I mean the images and symbols and compositions that occur so frequently on the interweb. Cosmic cats? Graphic photo-collages? Pixel art? That lacks originality and artistry. If that’s what you want to surround yourself with, by all means, do. But I’m not going to pretend it’s anything other than simplifications, visual representations of pop cultures endless echo chamber. Theorize all you like about what internet art says about our generation- I’m sure it’ll be wonderfully interesting and full of all the usual bull. But don’t call it inspired- that it is not.

As an oblique sort of proof, an emphasis on the medium and method as an intrinsic end is required to justify its artistic value. That necessity on explanation shows that it’s a flattened sort of art, an easy, an unsustainable art. Quirky, funny, clever, accessible, current, yes. Da Vinci didn’t need medium and method to prove his point, and neither did Dali or Miro. Means to an end, but not the end in itself. This emphasis on the medium and method are characteristic of modern art, and even contemporary art. I have a theory that art became sterile and too oblique around the time medium and method became the primary movers of the art world. Jackson Pollack, one of the first to emphasize method, was revolutionary, but method was again a means to an end, not an intrinsic end. Besides the “if you’re not first, you’re last” idea, it’s important to recognize that Pollack’s work, and other  revolutionary artists’, struck people and resonated. That being said, I’ll never give up iheartcatgifs.tumblr.com. GIFs are, for now, manipulable enough to be a whole different story. I’m not a fan of so-called “internet art,” though I might have fooled you a year ago.

3. * cRaZy SyMbOls *:

It’s not always bad but it’s not always good, and it’s always indicative. For me, trendy frivolity is nothing to be proud of. If it looks good, roll with it, but if your diamonds and snowflakes and capitals are a desperate internet plea for quote-unquote relevancy, just, no.

The bottom line is this: You Don’t Need Anyone To Tell You What’s Good. You Know.

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As always, and especially now, laissez les bon temps rouler,

the girl

think pink, etc.

pink peonies

I guess it’s a sign of growing up that I’m coming back around to things I once rejected out of hand, or something like that. One of those things is the color pink. I haven’t been a big fan of pink on its own in a long while. I read it as garish, simultaneously bodily and plasticine. But I’m reevaluating it, and while my favorite color will ever be orange, pink is making a comeback.

And now for something completely different: I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a song by Pink Martini, that jazzy band from Portland with the great album covers. However, their youtube page is s-l-a-c-k-i-n-g, and this is the best video I could find. Most of their other songs are better than this one, but this video’s set in Italy mostly. Then again, I’d also be remiss if I didn’t include Ariel Pink, whose vibes I’m especially digging on:

The weird home-video qualities of this vid remind me of Beck, which I’m okay with, and somehow it also reminds me of “Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades.” Back to the show.

I’d go so far as to say that I see a renaissance of a feminine aesthetic, modern and a little brutal, and pink has all the dynamism and vibrancy to spearhead the movement. First, a small collection of pinked images, culled from voyages across the interwebs. Second, an investigation of some artists whose vibes are vibing with mine these days. Let’s get to it:

Printed pencils? Sign me up twice. My latin teacher in high school had them made for her classes every year around exam time. My favorites said ERRARE EST HUMANEM, to err is human, but either Magistra McQuaid intentionally had them done this way as a latin joke- the best and nerdiest kind- or it was perfectly, ironically true. The correct translation of “to err is human” is “err are est humanum.”

Pretty pink polly want a cracker?

Though I usually try to avoid inane-Tumblr-photoblog-ness, I like all the vibes going on here. When my hair starts going grey, it’s also going to start going pastel I think. Pink and purple pastels seems to carry that undertone in hair, and artfully pink hair? I’m into it. There are also so many pink accessories I’m not even going to get into it. But the look is  goooooood.

In case you were wondering. This image is part of Benefit’s advertising campaign. The cosmetics company is actually owned by Louis Vuitton.

The Princess of all Princesses, Grace Kelly playing photographer at a swimming competition at Palm Beach, Monte Carlo in 1972.

An image ripped straight from Pinterest. This is, according to the inter webs, a textile designed by Leah Bartholomew and Beci Orpin. I’m having a bit of trouble finding their site, as I’d love to have this print, but alas. Everything online is simultaneously accessible and buried.

Though obliquely related, here’s a thing:

J Dilla. RIP. 

Here’s a place that looks amazing. Senegal’s Lake Retba, or as the French refer to it Lac Rose, is pinker than any milkshake. Experts say the lake gives off its pink hue due to cyanobacteria, a harmless halophilic bacteria found in the water. Lake Retba has a high salt content, much like that of the Dead Sea, allowing people to float effortlessly in the massive pink water. I hope it’s real, because I really want to go there.

Though I’m pretty sure this isn’t real, she’s still beautiful and perfect and melancholy in all the best ways. Here’s to the girl/woman of all years.

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As promised, below are a few artists doing daring and beautiful things featuring pink:

Melancholie, Sarah Illenberger

Sarah Illenberger, a beautiful, cool German artist, does fantastic things with food. Though not all of her work features edibles, the ones that do are particularly appealing.

This pop-up paper cut installation of hers, titled Ambpur, is really strange and beautiful.

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The fantastic Mr. Gray Malin‘s work often has a faintly pink feel, though it’s not overtly feminine or brutal. I think that the “pinkness” is more an element of the manmade/natural boundary he works with. His aerial photographs of the worlds beaches are graphic, eye-catching, quirky and oh-so-sunny in an almost apocalyptic way. Maybe that’s just me. Images of people from really high in the air always seems to be accompanied by catastrophe in the movies.

Sagaponack Main Beach, Bridge Hampton

Lisbon, Portugal

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50-year-old Korean artist Do-Ho Suh is one of my all-time favorites. I was fortunate enough to see his phenomenal Floor, at the Ackland Art Museum a few years ago. His work is always intricate, always astonishing, always requires an active interaction between piece and viewer. I’m a sucker for installation art, and his is usually pristine. Here’s a fascinating clip from PBS’ fantastic series Art21, featuring him.

This piece of his, 2007’s Cause and Effect, is a huge installation of acrylic and stainless steel:

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Here’s one via the anonymous depths of Tumblr. If you know from whence it came, holler:

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signing off, combining my favorite, orange, with a great version of pink:

laissez les bon temps rouler,

the girl