I promised myself today that I would not do a post about anything pre-1990. Then on my drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the still photo scene in Michelangelo Antonioni’sBlow-Up. I’ve shown this scene to my students at Art Center as an example of narrative and images in pure form. Blow-Up is a film made in 1966, yes, I’ve broken my promise, about a photographer (David Hemmings) in swinging London. He spends time hanging out, shooting naked skinny models who wear Mary Quant outfits, having sex with them, and going to Yardbirds concerts. It’s all very hip and Carnaby Street. On an outing to a park he shoots some random shots, and later after blowing up the images determines that he has photographed a murder. The images are individually beautiful. The scene when he examines the photos is pure and minimal. A series of 16 still and abstract images tells a clear narrative in less than a minute. The only audio is the rustling of the leaves in the park’s trees. This is the pivotal action scene in the movie. Now imagine the same scene filmed today. You see why it’s so amazing.
You may remember my emotional rant about Ihop recently and its tragic mistake to lose the “pancake” concept. I am heartened when someone gets it right. Hot Dog on a Stick is a favorite of most people I know. Teenage boys like to stand by and watch the young women employees pump the lemonade machine. Kids like the cheese on a stick.
I like the design aesthetic. Somebody smart decided to stay with the look that has a decidedly 1960s vibe. I’d like to believe that this was on purpose, not because somebody simply forgot to rebrand and then it came back into style. The look is what a hot dog stand should be: bright, cheerful, playful, and simple. There is a rigor in its implementation that should make any hard-core identity manager swoon. The drinks match the color palette of the logo, the uniforms reiterate the attitude, and the minimal menu reinforces the core experience: hot dogs on a stick. Life is serious, but corn dogs really aren’t. This is a perfect combination of form, function, and communication fusing together perfectly.
Something is wrong with these cats' eyes, or they're in terror.
This may come as a huge surprise to many of you, but I have a large collection of Better Homes and Gardens from 1950-1964. They’re a good resource when I need to decide what color to paint a wall, or how to make dinner using ground turkey, pineapple, peanut butter, and canned mushroom soup. The most upsetting part of reading these is finding an object that I want, and realizing that it won’t do me any good to send an order form to a company in Vermont in 1958. The set of cocktail glasses with an autumn theme in gold is no longer available for 59¢. And there are random images that have not been run through the 21st century digitized and niche marketing filters. The images beg for a story, and the ads rarely deliver. I’m left making the narratives myself, which is OK because it makes life easier if you make up your own story. But some defy any logic, or are just plain disturbing.
Robert Burle Marx, Safra Bank roof garden, Sao Paulo 1982
I love working in the yard. One of my favorite activities is growing indigenous plant species, and working with my cacti. I’ve cleverly planted cacti along one edge of the pool as a special treat for anyone who dares to run at the pool.
Several years ago, I came across Roberto Burle Marx, the Brazilian landscape architect. Marx (not one of the famous brothers) was born in 1909 and studied in Germany during the Weimar Republic. He initially considered the Brazilian vegetation as scrub, but evolved to recognize its inherent beauty. His forms clearly are derived from a modernist sensibility, with a touch of the organic. Marx’s landscapes read like a Miro painting or Calder sculpture. The paving at the Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro echoes the forms of the waves and creates a wonderful sense of motion.
I was watching one of those design shows on HGTV yesterday. The owners of a new house insisted that the freeform palette shaped pool, clearly based on one of Marx’s forms be taken out and replaced with a rock/waterfall pool. I’m not one to talk back to the television, but I found myself doing that. “No, no, no, for the love of everything sacred, please no,” I found myself begging the hapless homeowners on the screen.
Roberto Burle Marx, Copacabana Beach, Rio de Janeiro 1970
Robert Burle Marx, Cisneros Residence, Caracas 1980
Roberto Burle Marx, New York Botanical Garden
Roberto Burle Marx, Ibirapuera Park, Sao Paulo 1953
Roberto Burle Marx, Safra Bank, Sao Paulo 1982
Roberto Burle Marx, Ibirapuera Park, Sao Paulo 1953
Who doesn’t love the title sequence from Mister Magoo? Little did we know as small children we were watching the work of design hero Alvin Lustig. For those living under a rock, Mister Magoo was a television cartoon character voiced by Jim Backus (Mr. Howell on Gilligan’s Island). The cartoon followed the practically blind Magoo’s misadventures. Obviously many a hi-jinx occurred with driving and cases of mistaken identity. United Productions of America, UPA, produced Mr. Magoo. Lustig designed their logo also. My favorite moment: the roller coaster near miss. I suggest we stop yelling, “mother@#%*!^,” and yell “Road hog,” when someone cuts you off. Or at least, I should.
