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Image 7 Oct

Flora and Zephyr

by Rhea H.Boyden

Flora has carefully sown her seeds that will blossom in the spring watered tenderly by Zephyr, God of the west wind. She will not bare all too soon. She prepares herself for the long, cold retreat to the underworld where all is crisp and covered with ice. That same ice that does not feel as cold as winters past. Zephyr flies to her and adorns her with kisses and blossoms to give her strength. She slowly leaves the warm, wet place she wallowed in for too long with Satyr the goat man, in a fairy tale of unspoken words. Satyr remains cheerily chomping grasses in that wet fantasy land that she could never penetrate, so cloaked in clouds it was. She sees Venus shining ever brightly as her guide. Patience is the seed that will blossom for Flora in the end.<

Image is the painting 'Flora and Zephyr' by John William Waterhouse

Sasha’s Sonic Waste

22 Sep

imageimage

by Rhea H.Boyden

Last Christmas I found myself wandering through one of Berlin’s many Christmas markets on a Wednesday evening. The market was practically empty and I was in a sombre mood. I had some money in my pocket and wanted to buy some gifts for the people I loved, but I was feeling uninspired by what I saw. ‘There is a lot of lovely stuff here’ I thought, ‘but it’s the same junk as every year’. I strolled through the whole market and purchased nothing but a simple ceramic bowl that caught my eye.

After strolling some more, I found myself standing in front of the market’s Christmas tree. The ‘tree’ was constructed of lots of metal pipes from which were strung various pieces of junk. Old tires, smashed up radios, ancient computers and broken bikes. It was strung with a nice strand of lights, only half of which were illuminated. In front of the tree was a big sign reminding us of how much waste we humans have produced and how we really should think carefully about what we purchase before doing so especially considering we are in the middle of a recession. ‘Well’ I thought, ‘Here we are being told NOT to buy things in the middle of a market in the middle of the Christmas season which is the most important time of year for retail business to make its biggest profits and turnover’. I heeded the sign and didn’t buy another thing at that market. I did end up buying small gifts for my family and friends last year, but I spent most of my money on good food instead.

A couple weeks later, I met an interesting young man from Melbourne,  Australia named Sasha Margolis. Sasha, whose  artist’s name is ‘Automating’ creates the most interesting sounds that really make me think deeply about our material world. While listening, I read his biography of his craft and it says: ‘Sifting through the sonic waste and discarded technology left by the roadside of a world speeding too fast into the future. Field recordings, found sound, tape manipulation, noise and effects units. Currently pursuing live and studio created binaural soundscapes and archaic tape based drones.’ When I read this I immediately thought of the Christmas tree again and all the junk that has been left by the roadside that people had nicely reused to decorate a tree and make a point at the same time. Sasha, as far as I can see, is reusing sonic waste and turning it into something useful: deeply inspiring sounds. As I mature, I start to really see the value of contemporary art forms, something I simply did not understand or see any worth in when I was younger. This past summer when I was at Documenta Contemporary Art show, I found myself standing in front of a big pile of scrap metal and junk that was one of the exhibits. One then asks: ‘Is this art?’ and ‘What is the value of this?’ The value of this of course, is to make us think about how much we waste and ponder more creative and artistic ways in which we can reuse, reduce and recycle and make our planet a more sustainable place for future generations.

Sasha pic living room

Sasha Margolis

I was recently killing time flipping through  a high end women’s fashion magazine in a doctor’s waiting room. The magazine was full of advertisements for very expensive make-up, jewellry and clothing. The article that caught my eye however, was one that claimed that you do not have to be ashamed to say you are broke and unemployed in the middle of a recession. It showed you how you can creatively mix and match the clothes you already own without wasting money you don’t have on more junk you don’t need. This article impressed me as quite ironic sandwiched in between advertisements for expensive luxury products, just as the scrap and junk Christmas tree was placed in the middle of a market which is there for one reason: to make a profit.

Some mornings when I am getting dressed for work, I realise I am all nicely dressed up to greet a new client and then I swing around, look in the mirror and spot a lovely hole in my black tights. I don’t let it bother me though. I go to work anyway, and at least several better dressed people will point it out to me during the day, and I just blithely say ‘Oh really, I didn’t see that, never mind!’ If there is one thing a girl could go bankrupt on, it is constantly wasting money on new tights every time the tiniest hole appears in them. I do, of course, eventually splurge on more tights and throw the old ones to the junk heap, but not before I get the chance to wear the ones with lots of holes in them, two pairs at a time, under jeans, where no one knows the holes are there apart from me, in the depths of Berlin winter. This is just one way that I try and reuse and reduce waste. The other morning, Sasha sent me a link to his latest album and again it immediately made me think of waste reduction methods. Sasha’s sounds keep me thinking for hours about art, renewal, waste, death and the cycle of life. He samples so many different sounds from engines to sheep, to fireworks and birds. Sounds from from rural areas and from cityscapes. His sounds send me into a dream world and a trance and inspire me to write about all kinds of topics, which is interesting because his latest album ‘Somnambulist’ released under the label Wood & Wire deals partially with sleep states. Well done, Sasha!

Sasha’s music is available for purchase on Bandcamp.

To read reviews of Sasha’s music check out his reviews page.

 

 

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Link to Documenta article in Roll Magazine

26 Aug

 

Rhea green dot documenta

Photo by Erin Reilly

Link to Documenta article in Roll Magazine

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Queen Louise of Prussia

18 Aug

by Rhea H. Boyden

 

What can one do to console the great King Frederick’s grief as his beautiful, young and devoted wife perishes in his arms of a summer’s day? His tears are hotter and more bitter than hers were when her own first Princess was dead before she ever breathed her first breath. He can allow his loyal subjects to cast her likeness in bronze and cover them in wild spring flowers to honour her. They will do it willingly. She gained their respect. She came to court merrily from the land. Being Queen allowed her to hold people’s babies and kiss them tenderly. Allowed her to spread her copper coins happily among the ragged townsfolk. Frederick heeded her well when she spoke, whether in her Prussian tongue or the tongue of Napoleon that she mastered before he attacked their fair land. Schiller and Goethe captured her young heart and Frederick would make her his guide and love. Her lovely crown of turquoise that she wore so well, did not oppress or hurt her beautiful head full of blonde locks. Her big, round inquisitive eyes still stare out from a far more telling likeness. One of oil and not of bronze. Do the modern Prussian girls know of her savvy and loyal way? Do they also use their inquisitive eyes and minds to use her as a guide? The browning flowers on the fair bronze head must not be forgotten. They must be replaced with the fresh lushness of colour and life of our newly blossomed petals. The same lushness that once bestowed her rosy and lovely cheeks.

Portrait by Josef Grassi

Documenta Series

16 Jul

By Rhea H. Boyden

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                                                                                                      Photo by Erin Reilly

 

Documenta 1

Not heeding the mangled faces and forgetting their importance, she wages a war of fairy tales. Only thinking of the proud bee hive and its self-centred importance in the world. But the magical bees and the honeycombs only mask the mangled faces, barbed wire and camouflage that we so easily forget, locked in our own silly dreams. Is there any importance behind this screen? How can one give so much energy to a game on a computer? It is senseless in the grand scheme of things. How can one fill a whole grand hall with meaningless scribbles in pastel that also make themselves so important behind their plush blankets. One can only see half the picture in this too. Half the picture on a screen, turned into a fairy tale, half the picture behind the blanket. Yes, we must look at the mangled faces as hard as it is to do. We must stare, as painful as it is, and not cover them in warm blankets. I am not all insane. Just a part of me. Just that little part that enables me to create something worth looking at outside myself and away from the screen. Why, oh why must a fly have a whole marble block all to itself under a crystal covering? That too deserves respect. A simple fly puts everything into perspective. You can’t stop the clocks, they keep on ticking, so to freeze yourself in this moment is pointless. Perpetual motion is all around. The screen creates the myth of the perfect. Sometimes a person never comes back from the event horizon. There is no turning back to the screen, you have smashed it and scared it away. You must find entertainment elsewhere and not regret the past. It served its purpose. I nearly missed this nice image here while staring at the screen. Here I can find time to meditate. Watching the lovely spinning tubes, filled with singing fish and flashing lights turning life into a playground. But wait, there is a gun! Do not forget the mangled faces! They will come back to you under your own plush blankets and make your flies of problems seem positively minute. Even the playground is sinister. You can never escape the mangled faces. They will always be there. Always.

 wooden loom

Photo by Erin Reilly-Documenta 13

 Documenta 2

The seamstress can work hard to make a futuristic suit to protect us from the unwanted Nordic Nuclear energy. But will it make any difference? How can she sew such a garment on a machine made of wood that refuses to budge? Hours and hours go into carving out the fine and intricate curves of the wooden garment press. And all the work is lost in a protest that is dragged out of existence in the middle of the night. The banks and energy lords won’t listen to this. The plant will open anyway and they will drag away the Real Occupy Camp and leave the Art Occupy Camp there to try and quench our thirst for protest. ‘Oh, how quaint’ they may say. A faux white tent with the word ‘Greed’ written on it. Beware, Bankers! Art is more powerful than you think. It speaks a language that is beyond your scope.

tents at doc

Photo by Erin Reilly

Documenta 3

2 young women sit in a restaurant bemoaning the fact that they cannot find suitable mates. The Restaurant is aptly named ‘Il Convento’. At least the food is excellent. There is no modern map to help them chart their futures. The traditional maps have either been sucked into a black hole or burned in a lava flow from a volcano trapped in a dark hall. Art will rescue them for one day.

blinds over tracks

Photo by Erin Reilly

Documenta 4

There is no time to ponder an ocean wave in a landlocked city. Only the rushes can linger to enjoy that. The silver blinds are hanging over the train tracks and the clocks are ticking ever louder. The pistons are pumping and the mercury is rising. There is limited art for limited spaces and limited time to see it. Our calendar gives us more days than the Chinese, but still we must flee. German trains do not wait.

Venus and Satyr

30 Jun

‘Satyr and the Nymphs’  by William Bouguereau

The woman in the waves

‘The Woman in the Waves’  by Gustave Courbet

 Venus and Satyr by Rhea H. Boyden

The nearer she gets back to Earth, the brighter Venus shines. Having the strength to grasp Earth again after the madness of spending too much time on another planet that was cold, windy and desolate. Poor Satyr does not know the extent of this new birth. Does he know how he has been pulled into fantasy by Venus as she emerges from her shell? Venus loves the water. It makes her feel whole again. As Schopenhauer instructed us with good intention. Water suffices, humans need not drink anything else, he warned. As Venus’ shell grows less hard she learns to love the world again, but poor Satyr does not like water as much as Venus does. Venus has her helpers, the beautiful Nymphs who drag Satyr to the water against his will. But wait! Give Satyr time and maybe he will come to the water willingly. The way cannot be forced. Venus stands spellbound in an empty hall and then she sees herself in a Gustave Courbet painting. ‘Ah, there I am’ she says. ‘The Woman of the Waves’. She spies the madness in herself, her coy and unshaven manner. ‘Does Satyr love this?’ she wonders, ‘Or does it scare him away?’ Venus is shining brightly now and feeling revived. She emerges from the room and walks out into the bright, hot sunlight and there she sees the passionate kiss. The one she imagines. She looks up and sees the banners that signal that the vast water that separates their love has vanished in a hot, dry day.

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