Showing posts with label france. Show all posts
Showing posts with label france. Show all posts

Monday, December 7, 2009

the upper crust


O.K. today we start off with a simple quiz .A French quiz if you will, only it's in English. Ready? What are the first three things that come to mind when you think of 'The French?' and when I say 'The French', I mean of course 'The Parisians'.This isnt a trick question . Oh I know what your thinking, go on say it, we are all grown up here.Top of the list .They pong (usually the armpit area and always on the metro, and for some reason, even in the winter) 2.They strike at the drop of a hat (or rather a berat) Number 3. The woman dont shave there armpits'. Really! is that what you are all saying? (actually its what I am saying, but for the sake of argument, we will pretend its you) Well you might be right. But personally I was thinking something more like this (play a piece by Debussy when reading the next few lines).....Beautiful woman in skirts gliding on bicycles down avenues with names that sound like exotic pied piper-like perfumes.Or, strange seductive cigarette fumes that dance and drift in and around cafes. Inhaled by the likes of Jean Paul Sartre, Serge Gainsbourg, Juliette Greco.But really, When I think of what Paris means to me, It is something closer to this.The amazing buildings that loom over me with a knowing smile, while running there fingertips gently through my hair as if to say, 'welcome my skinny English boy to my warm ample bosom.'The erotic smells that waft in and around this city,looking for a soul to inhabit. A whisper that seems to say 'eat me, drink me take me. One whiff and I'm all yours. Or the feeling you are walking and living and yes breathing , in one huge flirtatious sensual expo with an accent or subtitles. O.K. dear reader, I know what you are thinking. Philip is on his third galss off wine.Well you are wrong, its my second. But I did have an amazing martini around 7 crammed with olives......O.k. getting back to the essence of 'The Parisian'......Oh! forget the essence and forget the quiz. Today I'm writing about that national instituation that rises with the sun ever morning. BREAD! yes BREAD! yes French! BREAD.

It seems that on every street in Paris and I mean every street, at all times of the day (with the exception of 1.30am -5.30am or there about) there is a person or persons walking casuallly with a baguette under his or her arm (and when I say arm) I mean arm-pit (more about that later) And when I say baguette, I'm talking about that fantastic, warm crusty, out of this world stick of bread, with a smell that should be bottled or arrested or both. O.K. before I waffle on too much, here is the answer to the quiz I posed 3 glasses of wine ago..The answers dear readers (or reader), in no particular order (Drum roll please) has to be ' The Baguette' (forget the other 2 on the list) THIS very very very French icon that we have all come to know and love and smell and YES! even eat, is the clear champion ..only its not, dare I say, FRENCH! (but its still the winner and an icon)
I will tell you why (yes I actually did some investigative reporting on this one) those years at the Miami Herald actually payed off. Im glad something did.
Im not sure I have ever walked down a rue or an avenue without someone carriying a baguette. It almost seems like a joke or an artist happening or a huge campaign set up by the French government or the French bread commission to make you buy bread. BUT NO! People here do it as a natuaral daily routine.Sometimes its more than one loaf, sometimes its up to 6 sticks (I suppose for those tres chic parties that I never seem get invited too) I have seen men woman children and yes even dogs carring these amazing sticks of bread.I have seen grown men using them to practise there golf strokes or young boys trying to perfect there fencing technics or woman caressing the end as if to say 'if only if only'. A young woman beating her boyfriend over the head with it. A boyfriend wacking her on the ass with it. I have seen people eating the ends of the bread on there way home,or the middle( also on there way home) I have seen a woman drop 3 of them in a poopy looking street, only to brush them off and be on her merry way ( the guests will never know) Trust me, its all a set up.I know, or think I do. That these various people are employed on a daliy basis just to carry these things around with them to entice others (tourists) to buy, as if the smell wasn't enough to lure us all in..But I hear what you are all saying 'philip, didnt you say something about this French instituion not actually being French at all?" What good SOBER memories you all have.
O.K. let me take you back to last tuesday or was it wednesday? ( it should be said,I knew as much about baguettes as you do, maybe less) I wandered to my local boulangerie (a good place to start I thought) to ask some soul searching dough rising questions..It went something like this, 'Bonjour Madam' (then it went to English with the help of an interpreter(Yes i know, I really must learn French.) I asked 'can you tell me something about the Baguette? She looked startled at first (maybe it was my new haircut) then I offered her some help ;'The history maybe?' Even more startled. Then she shrugged her shoulders so high, I thought she might hurt herself and other people nearby.Her poetic reply was 'you want to buy something or not' I pressed on, and asked her another tough question...This time she answered 'we sell the best bread in the area maybe Paris..You want to buy something or not? What a sweetheart, and what a smart beard she seemed to be sporting.It will look just fine when its grown in.

Not the type to be easily defeated (with distant memories of the battle of Waterloo flashing in front of me) I moved on to the next boulageroie and then the next..Same answer, same shoulder shrug 'we have the best bread in the region and maybe all of Paris..At least the last ladies reply was a little different 'why do you want to know? Dont ask so many questions, just eat the bread...Then she went on to say she sold the best bread in the region and Paris and even France.I did notice that she forgot to shrug her shoulders.Maybe she did it when I left. So with all this wealth of knowledge and a warm baguette nestlled firmly under my arm, I went to the Bibliotheque National (the mother of all French libraries)to find answers. I will save you all the boring bits, but here it is in a nutsdhell. When did the Baguette become an icon in Paris? Why didnt any of these woman know anything about the history of the bagette? Why did I cut my hair so short, (its winter for goodness sake?).....What I found out answered all my questions (apart from the bad haircut one) Brace yourselfs readers, you may not like the answer........

(WARNING!) There is almost no history to this story either. I know what you are saying (yes! I read minds also) You are saying, 'What? Europe? and NO HISTORY"? O.K there is a little bit, but not as much as you may want...It goes something like this.
In the early 19th century an Austian artillery officer called August Zang who opened a very famous bakery in Vienna in 1838. BUT! Also founded the daily newspaper 'Die Presse' which still exists today (this doesnt have much to do with this bread story at all, in fact nothing at all.Well maybe a little. One uses dough for bread and gets dough to work at a newspaper but thats about it). Quite a clever geezer if you ask me. Anyway, he also introduced the new 'Deck oven' (a combination of gas and steam) into Paris.The steam, as Im sure you all know, allows the crust to expand before setting, thus creating a light fluffy dough inside, yet a golden crusty skin outside. Voila!! This is the bit where it gets very French (you may want to sit down). In 1920 a law was passed forbidding bakers to bake bread after 10p.m.till 4 a.m. making it impossible to bake the tradittional round bread in time.So the problem was solved by baking the thin Baguette.It could be baked and ready for the grumpy French customers in the morning. And so was born le Baguette. ( rod, wand stick, Baguette has a few meanings..you get the crust or rather drift).In 1960 an ad campaign was launched to further the popularity of "La Baguette", a woman dressed in a smock walking through the streets claiming "Ben, que c'est bon!"( Well! its good! ) and grinning. The sales went through the roof ( of the oven no doubt) .Im sure being a French ad, she was really only wearing a smile, making not only the bread rise..Oooo la la.So this crusty icon of the Parisians is in fact a late bloomer as far as icons go.Because they sometimes go far.
Im always amazed at the passion the French have, for most things. Usually most things that are a food. Im going to the boulangerie tomorrow.It's a sunday and most shops are closed Except for (yes you guessed it) There will be lines of people coming out of these places.Lines not seen since the end of the war or lines still whitnessed in Russia or whatever its called these days.People will stand for a long long time (patient,nearly smiling, all very unlike the Parisians) Looking and acting almost like crack additcts getting there daily high. Or demented teens lining up for a Britney Spears tickets.These customers will stand in a gastronomic trance. I will be with them, staring at them 'standing in a trance'
O.K. I want to end this Blog entry the way I started (and I don't mean another martini) I want to finish with another quiz. Question: What part of a Baguette should you never ever ever eat.? (I will give you 30 seconds)....Would you like a clue? (A CLUE) Espically on a summers day.....Oh come on, the answer is a breeze....WHAT!You need another clue? oh! your'e the pits...

Bon Apetit

Sunday, July 12, 2009

to catch a thief



I would like to start this blog entry with a very simple question (although I fear your answer may not be that forthcoming) Question; When is the last time you stole something? Just to remind you what it means to steal, here is the Oxford dictionary's description....
steal |stēl|
verb ( past stole |stōl|; past part. stolen |ˈstōlən|)
1 [ trans. ] take (another person's property) without permission or legal right and without intending to return it : thieves stole her bicycle | [ intrans. ] she was found guilty of stealing from her employers

O.K. now that that is out of the way we can proceed...or rather I can (I'm starting to sound like a trial lawyer...sorry)
When I was about eleven I snuck up to London with my friend (who we will call John) because that really was his name.We didn't tell anyone we were going to the big city, we just went. We also didn't really plan anything, we just went from museum to museum.It wasn't that we were into learning or anything(we were eleven for Gods sakes) it was that the gift shops we were after, easy pray for out thieving little fingers.
On this occasion we happened to be in the Victoria and Albert Museum or was it the Natural History Museum, I forget. It doesn't matter.We found ourselves in the bookstore, slash, gift store. John and I started to wander separately around the store. I actually found a few books that I got lost in, and yes I really was drinking in all the 'stuff' but I couldn't tell John, I felt it would let him down somehow. The next thing I know, I was awakened from my million mile away dreams by a big nasty hairy hand on my shoulder 'Do you know this young man' the gorilla in a uniform asked?'pointing to John with his other ape like hand, 'Yes Yes ' I stuttered. 'Come along with me sonny' the ape barked(O.K. I'm not sure apes bark, but you know what I mean) We were led to a small stale cream coloured room at the back of the store. Its at times like this that you really notice that one have a heart pumping away.Mine at this point was working overtime. The prime 'evil' asked us to empty our bags.THANK GOD IN HEAVEN, I didn't have any stolen goods from the boring educational book store.No pillage, haul, spoils, ill-gotten gains, pickings; informal swag. NOTHING...TOTALLY EMPTY HANDED....John on the other hand had enough literature to open a small library(a kind of Victoria and Albert bookstore 'EAST' East of London, that is...thats where we lived).I'm not sure I will ever forget the look on Johns face as they called his parents. I on the other hand felt pure and clean (maybe even a little smug with a pinch of innocent written beautifully across my stupid young face) and not really in the same league as John.I was a free man (boy).It was a long journey home I can tell you (and as you know, I am). I felt I should take some of the blame of my friends shoulders, but I couldn't. I didn't really steal things. I really didn't. Poor John, he didn't even want the stupid books.Why do we steal things we don't really want.Well, John, went on to steal many many more things ,and well, I just didn't ....until now.
Ever since I have been coming to Paris (22 years) I have had my eye (both of them in fact) on some really old beautiful gates (photo above) I fell in love with these gates from the moment I saw them. And who wouldn't.They are old, weathered and very very beautiful.The sad thing is ,that in there day they must have been very grand gates, to what was a very beautiful house.The house is long gone and the property has a nasty concrete block wall around it.But the splendid gates remain.....So what do I do? I walk past 'my' gates at least twice a week and wonder how I can remove them and install them in my posession .If I don't take them, they will just rot and fade away, like the house.I know it would be wrong to take them, because they do not belong to me, but if I just sit by (or in this case walk by) they will crumble and be gone forever.I think really hard about what to do. I think what would be the best situation for the gates and me.I think what would John have done.I think I know the answer.
So when is the last time you stole something?

GROIN UPDATE: (for those that care)
AGHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

what a nerve



This morning I went for an MRI or as the French say an IRM. I went because I have been in severe pain in my 'groin' for the last 9 weeks (in fact its been the last 30 years that this pain has come and gone.No pun intended) I just found out what I have suspected for a long long time,unlike all the American doctors I had seen over the years. American doctors who sent me on a wild goose chase of endless tests and dreadful treatments at a cost of thousands of dollars, only to arrive at the same undiagnosed place. So I decided to see a doctor here in Paris, and after listening to me explain my pain, with the aid of some beautiful colour coded drawings (pink for mild pain through to bright red for severe) He told me in less than 15 minutes that I have something called 'Pudendal Nerve Damage' but to have an MRI just to make sure. Well I did, and there it was on the scan, a little white line showing an extremely swollen and very painful nerve.
This nerve is situated in what has become known as 'My Groiny area' It is in fact situated where the leg joins 'your' or rather 'my' torso. Its symptoms are never the same from day to day or even hour to hour or even minute to minute, which makes it a lot of fun.....HERE is the layman's explanation of what the symptoms are...
Pudendal Neuropathy is frequently caused by a mechanical and/or inflammatory damage to the pudendal nerve. Such damage to the nerve can manifest in a variety of ways, such as vague pains, stabbing pains, burning sensations, pin pricking, numbness, twisting, cold sensations, pulling sensations, or the feeling of sitting on a lump. Pain is usually worse when sitting and less when standing, lying down, or sitting on a toilet seat.( GREAT!!! if I want to sit down it has to be on a toilet.Thats not going to look very nice in my office.) It gets better..PNE is a nerve condition causing pain for no apparent reason in the area served by the pudendal nerve. No one pain pattern dominates. Pain can be in just one area, several, or all. It can be on one side, two sides, or the middle. PNE can occur suddenly or develop over time without one realizing it. It can be caused by frequent prolonged sitting, cycling, repetitive movement , exercising with the legs or for no appearent reason.
I wish I could make all kinds of jokes about this (god knows I've tried) but the truth is my life will have to change completely (it already has). It means that I cant sit down for more than 10 minutes at a time (I've timed myself) without feeling like someone is inserting red hot coals inside me (without my permission). It means I will have to stand all day while I work on my computer editing my film or producing art. It means no cinema, no restaurants. I have no idea about flying (can I stand all the way back to miami for 9 hours?) Driving is a nightmare. Yes dear reader I'm a mess. I have a really nasty flu at the moment also (just as an added bonus).
Now if you think Im going to take this bad news sitting down you are WRONG! I Cant, I don't have a choice. In fact I haven't sat down for at least a week.Nothing would please me more than to take this news sitting down....It couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Could it?
I want to say I just cant 'stand' it, but the truth is I can. Because standing 'it' is all Im able to do. Standing 'it' is my only choice....
Am I feeling sorry for myself? you bet your sore pudendal nerve I am.I feel like going for a bike ride to forget all this, but yes you guessed it...No more bike rides.
Why am I telling you all this? Well they say misery loves company, the trouble is there is no company, they are all out sitting down somewhere. I'm standing room only.

P.S. The Doctor kept my drawings.He wanted me to sign them also.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

I need your help and your words


Its been about three weeks since I got my hands on the doll from the south of France ( see posting April 28th below...but read this first) Its been 3 weeks and many thousands of photos and many hundreds of hours and many many shots of ice cold Vodka from the freezer to finally say, the images are finished. Well as finished as they can be. I finally arrived at a series of 15 images.It always seems to be 15. Im very content, dare I say it? happy! with the outcome. I now need to ask you dear readers for something that will make this project sing.I need to ask you for your help.I know this would make a beautiful artist book.I know that the images are strong enough to stand on there own.But as with most of my projects, I have the urge or the need maybe , to include stories. Yes dear reader, I need words. I need your words. So here is what Im asking. Im sure most of you grew up with a doll. Im sure most of you have wonderful or dreadful or tragic story about your first doll (or second) I need THAT! story,and if interesting, would go with my doll project (the project doesn't have a name as yet) Your story shouldn't be tooooooo long, in fact it should be on the shorter side, unless of course its amazing.So please please if you are interested, could you send your story to me. If I get 15 wonderful varied stories I will include them with this project....I never knew I could take that amount of time to photograph a small burnt bald plastic doll from the south of France that doesn't even speak English. O.K. Im waiting for the stories, If I dont get 15 stories Ill pull her arms off.......Just kidding, I'll start with the legs.
SEND STORIES TO www.nicecupoftea@mindspring.com

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

guys and dolls



A few weeks ago I wrote a piece about a friend of mine who was in the south of France. Im sure dear readers you all remember the story (see march 11th blog entry ). While she was walking through the countryside she came across a plastic doll and took a photo of it, then she sent it to me (the photo not the doll) but she did promise to bring the dolly back with her. Anyway, I went to pick up the doll in question sunday and now have it in my studio..
I knew I would love this doll since I first saw the photo, and when I finally set eyes on her , I was not disappointed, far from it.
Yes! she smells. Yes! she is a little scary looking. Yes! she has mange. But after a day of photographing her, she promises to be a wonderful piece of art and maybe has a future as an artists model (o.k. I may be going a little too far with the last statement)
So what is a grown man (thats me) doing with a sunburnt doll from the south of France? This I think is a good question. Here are some other good questions 1. At what point does it become art? 2. Why would something like a plastic doll interest me? 3. What do I see in this object that will make me work for a solid 2 weeks? 4.Is it o.k. for me to be seen playing with dolls? (the last question was a joke of course....wasn't it?)The truth is I work on instincts, I will produce the art first (with all my electrodes firing rapidly )and when the art is finished, I will start to pull apart all the reasons for making this a project. I realize that logic would have me work the other way around.I just didn't wont to talk myself out of this.Usually my instincts are dead on.
The image above is just a snap shot, nothing like the finished image, which of course isnt finished yet, because I just started working on this project today..whew!!!!!

You will have to excuse me now. As much as this doll promises to inspire great images out of me, she is stinking up the place with a kind of burnt rubber, mixed with hot rancid, cooking oil smell.
Ah! art has never smelled so good...............then again.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

the white balloon



Here is my latest little film. Its called 'The White Balloon'. The first time I ever heard the word Paris was when I watched the remarkable film called 'The Red Balloon' (French: Le Ballon rouge) (1956) It's a wonderful fantasy short film, directed by French filmmaker Albert Lamorisse (who won an oscar) I think it was then that I fell in love with Paris at the tender age of five. The film has stayed with me all these years and so has Paris. I'm tempted to take another look, but wont of course. Why ruin the perfect love affair...Enjoy my little film 'The White Balloon'
To view my film, It might be better to go to http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=bH85TFYNcKI&feature=channel_page and hit the high quality button just under the film on the right.The quality is so much better.....Then again, I also want to to stay on and in my blog.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

warm hands cold feet


My only regret in making this little film is that I didn't have my good video camera with me, and that I didn't have wool socks, on both feet. I shot it all on my tiny camera which only allows me to shoot 3 minutes (its not really a video camera, it just thinks it is )...I'm hoping it will snow again, in fact I think Paris will get lots of snow this winter...Remember you heard it here first. Sit back and enjoy the film.You may want to wear a hat and gloves and sip on something hot.
If you want to see this film in better quality, Go to you-tube and press the better quality tag bottom left of the film.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=V5reS0c60Yc

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Film noir...(well actually film bleu)


I froze everything off shooting this little film (even my little camera caught a cold) . The eiffel tower was blue and now it's back to its normal colour (a golden yellow). The reason it turned blue 6 months ago, was because France took over the European Presidency, and I'm sure you all know that the EU flag is blue with yellow stars. Now the presidency will go to another country that doesn't have an Eiffel tower or great food.

Anyway I think the real reason it was blue, was because it's freezing cold in Paris at the moment. Im going to thaw out now, maybe Ill turn back to my normal colour soon....pink!!!

Monday, December 8, 2008

love sex and death in 3 minutes and 20 seconds...give or take a few seconds. In 3 acts.



I was asked to produce a small 3-5 minute film about my work to be shown at the Wolfsonian exhibition 'Thoughts on Democracy' during Art Basel 2008. O.K. enogh words.....roll the film (popcorn not included)

Sunday, November 30, 2008

miami, coffee and me


One of the few things I miss about Paris when I come back to Miami is the coffee. I know I'm supposed to love Cuban coffee and don't get me wrong, It's not bad but it Isn't the coffee I adore in Paris (my god!!!!!!! What on earth do I sound like) Anyway I'm only here for 10 days so I'm sure I'll survive. The photo above is a coffee cup I designed about 20 years ago.I made this image of Miami beach,deco buildings , sea and sand. I had forgotten all about it or rather them. I'm going to sell them as a limited edition of 20. All signed and numbered(they come with a signed and numbered certificate). So place your orders now. They are $30 dollars each which sounds very expensive I know, but then again there are only 20 in this edition. Just think of the pure delight as you sip your French or Cuban coffee from a little work of art.........As for me, I'm going to make a nice cup of tea..you can contact me at www.nicecupoftea@mindspring.com

The proceeds will go to the very very expensive film I'm working on....

Monday, November 24, 2008

yet another pool



Most of you know about the old 1933 abandoned swimming pool north of Paris. Most of you know I've photographed every angle it has to offer and even some it doesn't. Most of you know Ive just about finished shooting that pool which is the subject of my a film called' les eaux muettes' (see www.philipbrooker.com) BUT! What most of you do not know until now, is that I have found another pool, YES ANOTHER POOL!!! and IT'S ABANDONED!!! and It's designed by the same architect . I took my first trip there this sunday with my new friend and tour guide Blandine. It's not easy to get to, it involves the metro, the RER train, a car and a small boat..oh! and my feet (lots of walking and climbing). The day I went it snowed like crazy then turned to driving rain then sleet then ...oh you get the picture...Above is a snap shot of the place. It's going to be fun shooting it. I had better hurry because there are plans to make it all beautiful again with a hotel etc, not really my idea of beauty... Next time I go out there I'm going to pick a sunny day. It has taken me 2 days to finally thaw out.

This project will be included in a book and a boxed portfolio.More about that later.....now where did I put my cashmere socks?

Sunday, November 9, 2008

the poster that never was...



I painted this poster of the beautiful river-beach swimming pool in Boran, France for one good reason, A poster was never made. Lots of photographs and newsreels were taken of the inauguration in 1933, but no poster was ever produced. I thought this quite unusual for that time and a wonderful opportunity to see what I could do. After a lot of research into other posters of that period. I set to work. As many of you already know , I have shot a lengthy photo essay on the pool as well as a one hour film..I suppose this is my latest obsession at the moment. The film will be out next year under the French title 'les eaux muettes' For more information about the film and the photo essay go to www.philipbrooker.com
Yes! this poster will be available later this year (maybe early january) and hopefully details are being worked out for an exhibition of the photos as well as a book about the project... Stay tuned.

If you are still awake, here is a brief history....
On May 2nd 1933 The Magnificent 'Plage du Lys-Chantilly' situated on the river Oise bank just north of Paris, opened its doors to the public and over the next seventy years would attracted thousands and thousands of people for miles around. Hailed as the most beautiful river beach in France. It instantly became a hit. This was not to last.
What's left today are the sturdy remains of a once majestic pool. A place steeped in a sad romantic atmosphere.The structure is still sound but nature seems to be winning the battle. The sand of the beach has an uneven blanket of grass and weeds. The 190 cabins have no doors and most of the original mirrors are broken.The faded plage rules still hang in every cabin as a reminder.Alongside are the original clothes hangers that look very naked, except for draping cobwebs. No longer is there music coming from the huge speaker. The chequered dance floor boasts only of weeds and grime. The reflections of the once grand river beach complex lay dormant. Sad majestic ghosts hang in the air.