Say Whaaaa Wednesday... Naked bodies, Two Dimension and $100 Million Dollars

Don’t you love when people who are dead are still racking in the dough? Last night, Pablo Picasso’s painting Nude, Green Leaves and Bust set a world record when it sold at a New York auction for $106.5 million dollars, making it the most expensive piece of art ever sold in history.

The portrait was painted in 1932 and depicts the artist’s lover, Marie-Therese Walter, a woman 30 years his junior and mother of his daughter. Although the picture appears to be serene with the nude Marie-Therese reclining in a wakeful bliss, the relationship between Picasso and Walter was anything but idyllic. Picasso’s rapport with this younger woman has been said to be fueled by secretiveness, taboos and limitless sexual boundaries. Marie-Therese was believed to be seen as an obedient object to Picasso. Their relationship continued throughout the years but took a toll on both Walter and Picasso. In 1973, just days before Picasso’s death, Marie-Therese hung herself in her garbage.

Now enough on the pathetic fallacy conjured up by art critics. Cubism is really appealing to me; I find its two dimensional surface of certain objects and sceneries to be quite successful in rejecting the traditional techniques of perspective and modeling. I always thought pure imitation was rather mundane, almost too similar to a photograph or of a naturalistic scene I am able to envision without creative thought. Cubists present a new reality free from the constraints of customary texture, space and color. However I do understand the critique of such contemporary art; it does have less merit in the technical aspect of painting, but that raises the question of what type of credentials are assigned to a piece of art that makes it art. Should a painting that took two years to create be more significant than one that took fifteen minutes? I am not sure. I enjoy looking at either one and don’t feel I need to create certain standards based on the technical merit and time it took to create the piece. One thing is for certain; I’d paint anything and everything anyone would want if I knew it would be sold for over $100 million dollars.

Serene Saturday... A Poem

To Sleep
By Jenna Reimer

I must sleep – though my body will not allow.
Waves of wind draw shadows of dead leaves
Strewed about my window,
Drifting in a breeze singing of tomorrows;
Leaf upon leaf, leaf upon earth.
Birds cry in the blustery breeze
Thundering crossways that once held them
Suspended in the air.
An untamed chill steals my essence
Falling into a bittersweet place.
The roar of a furnace, the fleeting traffic,
Heavy feet treading the walkway:
It lessens my limbs and softens my brow;
All to release me into a feathered slumber.
An opened door rattles and swishes
In the final spray of that very wind
Who disturbs the resting.
My eyes fall into my mind, my mind
Falls into a troubled state of dreary;
Lips slightly open, enough for a breath of wind-
Let me dream while night goes by,
And never goes by.

F*ck it Friday… So let us put Saddam Hussein in a shark tank.

It sounds rather lucrative doesn’t it? Not Really. I am always fascinated with obscure art pieces that reach beyond the realm of conventional creative outlets most artists bashfully tolerate. There are some vehicles of inspiration certain artists abuse that I do not particularly understand, nor care for, but I always appreciate a good jaw drop with a side of belly bruising laughter.

The controversial Czech Republic artist David Cerny enjoyed the public’s disturbed reaction when his sculpture entitled “Shark” was unveiled. The piece is a model of the former Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein, hands tied behind his back, suspended in a glass box filled with formaldehyde. It is, obviously, an extremely political piece that would, unsurprisingly, provoke uproar in the public and art community over cultural sensitivity. Cerny claims the art piece was to communicate a personal philosophy of his: “impossibility of death in the minds of something living.”

I am sure you have already guessed it has been banned in several countries and Cerny is very humble about respecting the opinion of the people. Wow, an artist who is not a jack ass and controversial?! Sounds lucrative… no, not really, I just enjoy saying that word today.

"The Swollen River" By Jenna Reimer

Cloud over rain, rain over cloud;
The fury of earth’s breast bone
Proclaims a sweet dominion
Rooting down to the river’s edge.
It is here, where I lie
The time rises
Into the irrational mind;
Where naked bodies are buried
In illusions of transcendence,
Fluid beneath the air’s lucidity
And timeless breath.
The sun has dawn on this realm
Where nothing is clear.
Truth has no means as death lives
In deaths arms with no solution;
To say this is clear would save us all.
It is only when my body drowns
In the rising river, and the rain
Hollows in full and continues,
That I will come out of this
knowing no one,
Nor they me.

Say Whaaaa Wednesday: Fashionably Sweet…

My wonderfully fashion forward friend (thanks Jory!) emailed me these unusually creative tea bags! These adorable creations definitely made me laugh to myself and I just had to post them for my Say Whaaaa Wednesday… Ive been sick these past few weeks so excuse my lack of creativity in the literary and artistic medium I seem to be straying far from… I have had no energy.

Anyways, I always dreamed of discussing the state of the fashion industry, the new up and coming trends in Paris with Karl Lagerfeld over some tea and lavender tea cookies and now I can… sort of. These Pret-a-Portea tea bags, designed by a German novelty company called Donkey Products, come in the form of the glorious Karl Lagerfeld, Donatella Versace, John Galliano and many more fashion icons! How delightful!

A Quest for Enlightenment

I’ve been awfully sick these past few days which has made it difficult to muster up the effort to do much of anything. School has ended, with the exception of one more exam on Thursday, and I have been rather anxious over all the free time I am going to be faced with. With nothing better to do than sit with my own thoughts I have decided to venture on a summer filled with all things “serene.”

I am going to force myself to channel my energy into creative and, well, happy activities as I have been feeling my life is overwhelmed with doings that bring me nothing but negative vigor. Whether it is pulling out my acrylics and painting, going to a museum or getting back into working on my poetry, I am certain I will bring a subtle light to my lonely summer. Although it is somewhat frightening for me to voyage outside of my normal, and unhealthily comfortable, routine I am determined to use this summer as a period for self discovery. I will chronicle my mundane adventure and hopefully succumb to some sort of epiphany by the time the leaves return to a crimson orange and find whatever it is I am searching for; perhaps it is an enlightened view on the irrational world and my irrational place within in.

F*ck It Friday... I'm Sick and Feelin' the Scene

It is far too uncommon that a postcolonial poet is able to escape the proliferation of political and African content flooding his or her poetry. I was initially emphatic in my belief that, as much as I appreciate postcolonial literature, there was far too much emphasis on the societal and political state of one’s colonized country; the writing didn’t seem to have real existential leanings where there was an stress on the individuals quest for the meaning of life and the struggle life’s strange tides bring forth.

Before I knew it, I came across a poet from Nigeria, Ebereonwu, whose poetry left me in awe by way of his crazy imagery and outlandish context. I found myself wondering whether his work was a product of psychedelic drugs or psychiatric issues. He tragically died in a car accident but his work shells out a rash and somewhat “fuck you” attitude which mirrors his unique style. When asked why he wears his typical guevera styled beret, he replied: "It's a matter of choice. In a world where people are used to copying what everybody is doing, they are bound to see me as a radical. All the changes in the world are not brought about by people who behave like their grandfathers." What a cool dude eh? A man who never tried to render unceasing ideas and say what’s on his untouchable mind; what other mind could write lines too tart for the tongue: “The Cobra’s venom is my cough syrup” (“Mankind,” The Insomniac Dragon).

The Following is also an excerpt from The Insomniac Dragon

HERE

Your spittle harpooned the shark of bigotry and norm
Your voice unsettled the moon even in its abode up high
In your mortal strides, you caused cherubs to fret and sigh
You’ve gone now leaving behind your prepuce and your venom

THERE

It isn’t the fool anymore, let them know
It’s the wise and strong that treads where angels fear to go
So with your pen, cause ripples over there
Unsleep their slumbering stare