Wednesday 9 June 2010

All those stories about love..


Je t'aime, pompidou, originally uploaded by julienpaul.

(be warned, spoilers regarding Twilight and Ni d’adam, ni d’Eve.)

My recent reading schedule has been a bit eccentric, perhaps even bi-polar; I persisted through the Twilight series to see what it’s all about, while alternating with “L’Etranger”, by Camus, “Ni d’Adam, ni d’eve” by Nothomb, and now onto “Coming up for air” by Orwell.

Obviously, in comparison, Myier’s writing style seemed even more simplistic and poor, but the greatest contrast existed between Myier’s and Nothomb’s depictions of that word, “love”.

So, maybe Twilight is essentially written for teenagers and can be seen as a bit of a fairytale filtered through the eyes of Dawson’s Creek. Perhaps I shouldn’t try to read too deeply into it. Even so, I cannot escape the fact that the two main characters, Bella and Edward, don’t have a single thing in common and don’t connect on any level other than sexually.

Rather quickly, they start throwing the word “love” around and it becomes an unquestionable justification for their relationship, rather than love being the RESULT of their relationship. All of their doubts about each other are linked to looks and Love, with the two being inseperable.

Nothomb, however, has a slightly less fairytale approach. Her autobiographic novel depicts her relationship with a Japanese man, Rinri, while she lived in Tokyo for two years. Rinri is sweet like no man she has ever met, adores her in a tender and rather innocent manner and makes her content, but as she puts it: when he isn’t there, she doesn’t think about him.

She has to tackle the fact that she is unsure of her feelings, that perhaps she loves him, but that love isn’t enough. When he proposes to her, she tries to put it off for a few years, too afraid to hurt him, and not wanting to lose what happiness he gives her. However, she quickly realizes she will never marry him; he is simply too nice. She needs a certain amount of “vinegar” in her relationships for them to work. She abandons him without a word of explanation.

Obviously the two books are written for different markets, but after reading Nothomb’s book, “Love” as an unquestionable justification for a relationship seems pretty flimsy. Perhaps the superficial nature of Edward and Bella’s relationship is inevitable when you look at the characters: Edward is perfect and hence boring, Bella is nothing but an annoying bundle of nerves. Still, all I could think about when Edward and Bella discussed spending eternity together was that when the lust runs out, fuck they’re going to be in hell.

Tuesday 8 June 2010

Hotel LC


Hotel LC, originally uploaded by futurescraps.

We knew that our stay at the hotel LC was going to be a special one. Already, leading up to Sabine’s 30th birthday party, all of our reservations had been mixed up in every way possible and an earlier conversation with Mr LC had gone a bit like this:

“Oh, Mr Gouiric. Yes, yes. I have given you a wonderful room. Not my best, that one is next to the road, but still excellent. Oh, did I receive you cheque? Yes, I did. I can’t find it anymore, but that’s no worry. I am pretty sure I haven’t cashed it. It’s here somewhere. But you understand why I need it? People say they will come, but then they don’t. They’re horrible, people like that. How am I meant to make things work with people like that? You’re not like that at all. You sent me a cheque. So, I will see you on the 29th. Oh, the 23rd? No, that’s what I meant. I am pretty sure that’s what I have written too. I will see you on the 23rd. I’m certain.”

We arrive at his “hotel”, effectively an elaborate bed and breakfast without the breakfast. A door opens in a tall stone wall and we walk into the garden. It is like walking into wonderland; Mr LC has created a maze using hedges over two metres high, faintly written signs tacked onto the hedges indicating which path to take towards the “reception”. We finally arrive at a gate where another sign suggests that we ring the bell.

We ring it. We wait. We hear coughing and grumbling.

Mr LC, a rather overweight, short man, who has difficulty walking, arrives and stares at us suspiciously. We introduce ourselves and he seems confused at all the names. Only mine makes any sense to him.

“Ah, Mr Gouiric, with the cheque.”

He takes us on the grand tour.

“Here is the pool. It is very warm and right now (7pm) is the best moment to go swimming. After 4pm it is reserved for “naturalists” (nudists). Right now really is the best time for you to all swim. I will keep it open just a bit later, if you want. We get so few young people here.”

He shows us the pool, which is completely protected except on one side, where it opens in full view of his dining room.

Next, are the rooms. What was once a simple, rectangular building has had extensions tacked on in every direction, mostly out of rickety polycarbonate, making wonderful greenhouses within. The thermometer on the wall of my dining area reads 36 degrees.

Each room had a small outdoor eating space completely surrounded by hedges, a narrow piece of sky visible above. Later, when we would be having breakfast in the days to come, it was like some kind of 19th century game. While at our tables, we could hear people in every direction by couldn’t work out where they were exactly. If you just stayed silent, no one knew you were there, listening....

Before Mr LC let us go, he showed us the all-terrain-vehicle (four wheeled motor bike) that he said we could use if we wanted. We all got excited about using it to get to the party, but his suggestion that the one girl amongst us could get on the bike straight away and he could take photos dampened our mood. We thanked him and reminded him that we really had to get to the party.

On departure, two days later, he magically found my cheque, but lost everyone else’s. We haggled over the price of the room (he had originally said 38, then on leaving, told me 46), and we settled on 40, and he threw in a bottle of cider, which I accidentally forgot in the room when we left.

Ah, Mr LC, you know how to run a b and b.

Tuesday 1 June 2010

a pompidou interlude


a pompidou interlude, originally uploaded by julienpaul.

Thirty-three years after the centre Pompidou was completed in Paris the Metz satellite opened its doors this month to a large round of applause (for it inaugural exhibition) and boos (for everything else).

Designed by Mr Paper himself, Shigeru Ban, and Jean de Gastines, it will house exhibitions and portions of the vast Paris collection (the largest collection of modern art in Europe, no doubt only second in the world to MOMA), but amass no collection of its own.

The initial renders of the project depicted a building that was already horribly dated, a blast from the 80s that was programatically dull (only a museum, not a bustling hub like the Paris outpost) and overall, a bit of a mess.

All reality added was bad detailing, cheap window frames, horrible circulation and an empty entry hall.

Ok, lets back up a moment. The design involves a very Shigeru Ban timber lattice thrown over three long narrow galleries stacked on each other. The lattice is actually quite beautiful, and obviously where most of the effort and money went.

The actual envelope of the gallery is a mess of cheap materials, exposed services (if this is a nod to the Paris Pompidou centre, then it is a rather offensive one) and a huge office block that looks like cheap public housing.

Once inside, you will be wowed by the very tall, but rather awkwardly shaped entry hall, before being shoved through a series of rabbit warren like spaces to try and find the exhibition halls. All circulation occurs either through two lifts, or a fire escape that was obviously never meant to accommodate the public.

The only dramatic architectural moment occurs as you rise in the building and start to see some of the gallery spaces intersect within the lattice. An opportunity was lost in not allowing people to walk on and around these volumes except for a few hidden and forgotten balconies.

People will argue, and rightfully, that the exhibition spaces themselves are not bad: well lit, good views at either end. But I will argue back: who the hell decided on the contents of this building? A cafe that only opens on the outside? A puny bookshop? No auditorium?

The Pompidou Centre in Paris not only works as a piece of architecture, with its glorious circulation (the escalator) and flexible exhibition spaces, it also defines itself as more than a museum: cinemas, two floors of public library, shops, the national sound experimentation centre, etc etc etc

The Metz Pompidou centre is nothing more than a museum, the type that was already in existence 200 years ago. It is a lost opportunity in every sense, and is clearly just a reusing of the name "Pompidou" as a type of watered down branding.

This will hopefully not be a sign of things to come. I still have high hopes for the two Louvre satellites, by SANAA and Jean Nouvel. Hopefully this will be the one dud in the family.