Perhaps no fruit plays a greater role in ancient cultures than the noble fig. Subfossil figs have been found in Jordan that predate the domestication of even wheat and rye. The fruit also appears in many religious traditions, for instance the leaves of the fig tree were used, according to the Book of Genesis, as the first underwear.
No man may understand the fig like albertluk6043382973, a gentleman whose enjoyment of this fruit borders on the perverse. In his instructional video he shows the viewer exactly how to determine the fruit’s ripeness and how then to pluck it from the branches. Gently, he caresses the purplish skin, stretched taut by the bloated flesh within. With the intensity of an amateur pornographer he focuses our gaze on the ostiole, open and secreting a sugary dew.
Soon though, his movements become more daring. Grasping the fig with one hand he begins to twist the stem; splitting the skin with his fingers. Finally, released from the branch of its birth, he brings it towards us, tearing it open to reveal the sticky interior, flush and glistening. Only when we have drunk in this sight does the shirtless man bring the fig to his lips and devour it with an ardor tempered by months of desire and need. Here, truly, is a man whose love for the fig is unmatched. He is part of a long tradition, possessing a deep understanding of the natural eroticism of the Ficus carica — and in that knowledge he revels. Juice running down his face, he celebrates; for now is the time for figs.
If Joseph Merrick had solved the Lament Configuration.
“Dear Coilhouse,
My name is Katarzyna Konieczka, I am an avant-garde fashion designer from Poland. I have been browsing through your website and while reading the blog I came across photos of Joseph Merrick’s head sculpture. I would like to take the opportunity of inviting you to consider some of my work which took his inspiration from his life and condition. In particular, one of my models from the ‘Very Twisted Kingdom’ collection. The costume depicted in the attached illustration consists of a metal ruff and other elements resembling orthodontic medical equipment in reference to his illness which had not been diagnosed at the time.”
SOLD. Ten minutes later, I’m still picking my jaw up off the floor after perusing Konieczka’s site. Many more images, after the jump. In addition to the images on Konieczka’s page, many more images can be found in Marcin Szpak’s portfolio.
Model: Maggie of Lucent Dossier. Collar by Dream Rockwell.
LA-based Allan Barnes’ love of “Jurassic” image-making technologies – ambrotypes, daguerreotypes, instant film, and the like – lends itself well to his portraits of artists, models and performers from the LA scene. Recently, his work has displayed a greater degree of sartorial opulence thanks to contributions from the likes of Lucent Dossier’s Dream Rockwell (who created the collar above), Billy and Mellie (formerly) of Antiseptic, and one Miss Laila (responsible for the masks/headpieces below, though there’s no known URL for her work), among others. Sadly, many of the most stunning images are marred by what I consider to be a gruesome watermark, but that doesn’t dissuade me from sharing them after the jump. Barnes is also a teacher, so LA residents interested in learning old-timey processes are encouraged to follow him on Flickr for updates on workshops in the area.
In remembrance of Dennis Hopper, who passed away on May 29th, The FAM presents David Lynch’s 1986 masterpiece Blue Velvet, a film that did perhaps just as much for Hopper’s career as it did for Lynch’s. I would imagine that most, if not all, Coilhouse readers have seen this film at least once. Starring the aforementioned Mr. Hopper as the psychotic Frank Booth as well as Kyle McLachlan, Laura Dern, and Isabella Rossellini, Blue Velvet is the story of a small town that hides dark and terrible secrets. It’s a classic Lynchian theme by now, but coming after the disaster that was 1984′s Dune — a film that I must admit, I like very much and a book, I must admit, I dislike as equally — it was a revelation.
Much of the film’s success must be placed at the feet of Mr. Hopper who, after accepting the role of Frank Booth (he was Lynch’s third choice for the part) was said to have exclaimed “I’ve got to play Frank! I am Frank!” His portrayal of Booth: impulsive, unpredictable, and terrifically violent, makes for one of the scariest characters in all of film. His constantly shifting moods and disturbing, recursive, Oedipal-tinged sexual proclivities, combined with his iconic nitrous oxide kit, are the perfect foil for McLauchlan’s naive, amateur detective. It’s a truly masterful performance.
In many ways Blue Velvet may be Lynch’s crowning achievement, and part of reason for that, I would maintain, is due to its relative simplicity. The imagery he uses here is powerful, but it is also far less obtuse than he has a tendency to be. In other words the signal to noise ratio of meaningful symbols and Stuff David Lynch Thought Looked Pretty is fairly low, making for what I feel is a much more complete and perhaps enjoyable experience.
At the very least, it’s a chance to see Dennis Hopper at his crazed, drug-addled best, every line spewed wild-eyed, frothing, and peppered with profanity. He shall be missed.
Weirdness and misogyny this week on The FAM as we present 1987′s The Confessions of Robert Crumb produced by the BBC (which includes the wonderful Arena opening and song. Seriously, I love that intro.) Unlike 1994′s Crumb by Terry Zwigoff (which is seeing a Criterion release this August) Confessions is less concerned with Crumb’s bizarre family and more concerned with the man himself. In that regard it spends much of its time letting Crumb explore and contemplate his objectification of women and self-loathing, preferring to be a catalog of the man’s various fetishes, to merely witness a day in the life of a dirty old man.
Both documentaries illustrate how difficult it can be to separate the artist from their art. A great fan of his work I can’t help but cringe as Crumb displays his current wife to the camera, showing off her musculature as if he were trying to sell the viewer a horse. It is, perhaps, admirable that one would be able to be so honest with the world, willing to expose one’s Id to whoever passes by, and it has certainly worked out well for Robert Crumb. I just can’t help but think that those images made living, breathing flesh are not nearly as entertaining when not on the printed page.
Posting this here was preceded by a long, arduous internal debate. It’s true that I’m far from a Devendra Banhart fan. In fact, I’m fairly allergic to just about everything I’ve seen of him, little as that may be. Until this video, that is. Taking a big step away from his neo-flower-child-meets-Castro-Jesus look, Devendra, along with director Isaiah Seret, made a video for the song Foolin’ thatpays tribute to tender man-love, old school pulp films, as well as to their biggest fan ever, Tarantino. What I love most about it is the fact that it shows a heavy S&M relationship in a positive, humorous, light. It’s just so darn happy-making, I can’t help myself!
Marking this NSFW for gratuitous use of bloodied butt-crack, sexy violence, and dangerous thongs. Dig it:
Today, in remembrance of the late Malcolm McClaren, who died this week at the age of 64, the FAM presents 2000′s, The Filth and the Fury. Directed by Julien Temple it is considered a response to Temple’s earlier film, The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle, filmed in 1978 and released in 1980. Swindle tells a fictionalized version of the rise and fall of the seminal punk band the Sex Pistols from the point of view of McClaren, who presents himself as an all powerful puppet master, using the band for his own ends. Filming began before the bands disintegration making the final product a disjointed — albeit entertaining — mess, with lead singer John Lydon and original bassist Glen Matlock only appearing in archive footage.
I’ll apologize then to those who have not seen it, as I could not find the film in its entirety to embed here. Instead, we have the film above which, as previously mentioned, represents a rebuttal to that 1980 release, specifically the band’s response. It’s a fascinating story but it also highlights the friction between the two parties, especially between McClaren and Lydon the two men at war over who harbored the creative spark that was responsible for this piece of music history.
The truth, no doubt, lies somewhere in the middle, and regardless of McClaren’s other achievements in fashion, film, and music, the Sex Pistols define his career in the minds of many. Whether he was a genius or a scoundrel depends on who you’re willing to believe.
We’ve been going through the Coilhouse Readership Survey responses. They’ve made us laugh, think, and feel incredibly grateful. We’ll be tabulating the results over the weekend, and posting our findings (and maybe even a few choice quotes) early next week.
Some of you made requests in the comments, ranging from “can we have a mailing list to notify us when a new issue has been released?” to “more porn.” Just so you know, we’re all reading every single comment. This particular post is dedicated to the lone responder who requested more fashion. It’s true, with a handful of blogs now doing an incredible job of covering dark/bizarre/futuristic fashion and indie designers (Twisted Lamb, Haute Macabre, Dirty Flaws being my Top 3 faves), we’ve eased up on the fashion coverage here quite a bit. Your comment made me realize that I miss uncovering new designers, so I present you with Japanese label Somarta, the brainchild of designer Tamae Hirokawa. Hirokawa is known for her use of machine-made lace, a common thread through many Somarta collections. “Making full use of advanced Japanese textile technology,” wrote the Japan Times of a recent collection, “Somarta presented designs of which some were made with the aid of specially created knitwear computer programs and devices. Squinting past the blinding crystals, it was possible to pick out exquisite ’20s-inspired black- and nude-lace dresses.”
Some of Somarta’s designs, such as the ones above, can be found in Somarta’s online shop or another store called nuan+. If you have Japanese friends who could help you out with site navigation/shipping, Somarta’s tights can be yours for about $179, and the top for about $200. Pricey, but beautiful. The look for less would definitely be these cute $12.50 “Aristocrat Lolita” tights on Ebay. More favorite images from Somarta, after the jump!
Some more Serious Journalism from my time in Japan (see also: cat cafes). I previously mentioned Yaso Magazine in a post about Neon O’Clockworks – as promised in that post, here are some snapshots of Yaso for you to see! It’s a beautiful, hefty magazine with themed issues, published and distributed almost exclusively in Japan. I took some photos of three issues with the following themes: Vampire: Painful Eternity / Heartrendingness, Victorian: Influences & Metamorphoses of Victorian Culture in Today’s Japanese Sub-Cultures, and Sense of Beauty: Japanese Aesthetic. Other themed issues I didn’t get my hands on: Svankmajer (yes, an entire Svankmajer-themed issue), Gothic, Monster & Freaks [sic]. I also had a fourth issue called Doll, but gave it away to Ross because he is a doll fancier before I got a chance to snap some photos.
It’s a stunning magazine. Paging through it feels like like falling into a paper-fetish world that’s at once completely alien and intimately familiar.
The small pictures don’t do it justice, so click on through to the Coilhouse Flickr Set to see the full, annotated collection of images. This magazine cost around $15 in Japan, but I’m only finding it priced at $35 for those of us living in the US or in Europe. I’ve even seen copies appear and disappear for about $45 on Ebay. The magazine is almost entirely in Japanese, as is their site.
We are so inspired to see others publishing the kinds of things that we love, all over the word. We don’t know the people who do Yaso, but we are so, so grateful for them.
In the age of ultra-polished music videos featuring flawless human specimens in various stages of aggressive air-humping, we oft forget the common man. What about that guy behind 7-11, who claims to be a sailor, smells of fish, and gives you the stinkeye? What of uncle Merv, whose gravy-encrusted beard and consistent belligerence have become an almost-comforting staple at family gatherings? I for one, am tired of steely abs and tits on my screen [there are so many, all the time]. In the VonSwank-directed video below, justice is served as Josh Heironymous* represents the intrepid proletarian to the tranquil sound of “Into the Holes” by Lily Fawn. Sit back, relax, get your zen on and enjoy three minutes of a Real Man giving his all to the camera, the way you’ve always dreamed of.
*I note, not without triumph, that Joshua and I shared a Chicago apartment during my one year of college. I got to watch him do this all the time.
