Posts By: Muriel Demarcus
The Vanilla Studio doesn’t exist any more -it has been replaced by the diocese of London:
For the last few weeks, we have all been living with the Weinergate, DSK, George Tron (a French minister who happens to be a foot fetishist-trust me, you don’t want to know more). I received a comment from Thom, a fellow blogger, who in essence asked: what about women? Are they as bad as men? Why don’t we hear more about them?
There is a new fashion in London. I have never seen anything like it before, neither in Paris, nor in Singapore or New York. It downed on me yesterday, when I was taking the Tube to go to work. (Mind the gap, please, mind the gap!). 4 women, whose ages were ranging between 18 and 45 -I am not very good at assessing ages-, were sitting next to each other on the train and applying their make up in the most conscientious way. And they were not discreetly putting some lipstick on. No, not at all. Their toiletry bags were wide open, as if they were in their bathroom. They were at different stages of the process. They didn’t know each other. One was cleaning her face with a wipe, another was applying her foundation cream, the third one was putting some eyeliner on (which I found very brave given the fact that some trains can brake abruptly) and her mouth had the shape of an inverted V –women look very silly when they put their make-up on-. The last one was putting some powder on her face with a brush, and she was gently patting her face with her other hand while checking in her hand mirror, on her lap, that she looked good.
Well, there are some good news: it looks like the 21st of May wasn’t the end of the world after all. That being said, I am not sure that we are in good shape. You see, I believe that we are becoming more and more judgemental.
Breaking news: Joy has mentioned my blog and I just love what she said about me. Check it out at Catharsis.
Where has the week gone? It is a glorious day in London and I am knackered. I need a good holiday, but having a break is not on the agenda yet. That said, it was a good week…
Thanks to my 6-year old daughter, I went to the Royal College of Art this week. She has been selected amongst 7000 participants in an art competition organised by a charity, and her painting was displayed there.
I could hardly believe that she was selected. It is apparently an honour, and saying that I was surprised is a bit of an understatement here: let’s just say that we are not an artsy family. Far from it.
So, a bit stressed, I walked from Gloucester Road Tube Station to the Royal College of Art. I then had to pay £3 for the privilege of entering the exhibition, and was suddenly surrounded by 700 kids’ paintings. Very helpfully, my lovely daughter had explained to me: “Mum, you can’t miss it, there is a pineapple, a pear and a flower”. I expected a “nature morte” and surveyed all the walls, desperately looking for the pineapple. Surely I would recognise her style. But nope, I couldn’t find anything. I tried to understand how the paintings were organised ( by school? By age group?) but I couldn’t figure it out. In the end, I had to ask one of the lovely ladies at the entrance door to help me.
To be fair, it took her quite some time to find it but she managed. There it was, right in the middle of one of the walls.
The yellow thing on the right is, I am told, the pineapple. No wonder I missed it. I was baffled. Very proud, of course, but a bit disappointed. To make matters even worse, I had to make a (generous) donation to be able to get the painting back and order some postcards (given the family history, it will probably be the only painting selected for an art competition in a long, long time so I felt compelled to do the right thing ). Then, the lovely ladies tried to convince me that putting it on a canvas would make a great present but I resisted the suggestion…
So here I am, home, with the painting, and I can’t help thinking about something that happened at the Tate Modern a few years ago: one of the cleaners thought that a paperboard sculpture was a pile of rubbish and threw it away. I sympathise with the cleaner and I think that I will never “get” art. Don’t get me wrong, the Tate Britain is like a second home to me. I love going there, and the permanent Turner exhibition is fantastic. But sometimes, I just don’t understand art.