They’re here for no other reason than I love them. Both were out of their time and look fabulous right now. If you have never seen Jean Seberg in ‘À bout de soufflé (Breathless) 1960, directed by Jean-Luc Godard, sporting that very neat hair cut, then go rent the DVD right now. As for Miss Hepburn take look at the beautiful portrait by Jack Cardiff hanging in the Groucho club. Lovely.
Jean Seberg in ‘À bout de soufflé 1960
and that hair cut.
The lovely Miss Hepburn
My local cinema is the Renoir in London’s Bloomsbury. I like supporting it, as it’s one of the few cinemas that takes film seriously. Originally built as part of the Brunswick Centre; one of the last, late 60’s, exercises in brutalism (architect Patrick Hodgkinson) and was to compliment that other 60s icon the Barbican in the City. But it was dogged by compromise and its ambition dramatically scaled down. It was eventually sold to Camden Council who promptly turned it into a slum . By the 90s the Centre was in a very sorry state with empty shops, vandalism and a general lack of investment. But the recent major renovation has seen it rise from the ashes to become a thriving part of Bloomsbury. It is now a desirable residence for many design conscious individuals – a very well known design/architectural magazine editor lives there (guess who?). But throughout the Brunswick’s shabby period I, along with a close friend, continued to pay our weekly visit to the dear old Renoir cinema. It still brandishes it’s 70s graphics and the friendly staff sport the familiar back T-shirts. I have come to think of it it as 'my' cinema - if there are more than a half dozen others in the auditorium I get quite affronted – ‘ Wow it’s pretty crowded tonight’, I would mutter to my companion. Over the years I have seen some astonishing films there and still do. More often that not I take pot luck. I did just that last week. Sergei Bodrov’s ‘Mogol’ is magnificent. For the ciematography alone it’s worth the 125 minutes. But it’s much more that that. It tells the epic story of Temadujin, better know as Genghis Khan (c 1162 – 1227) whose empire, at its height, covered one fifth of the planet. The dialog is in Mongolian – which is probably why this film is not getting the distribution it deserves. In my view the language is all the better for it, as transports you right to the heart of these people and their customs. The ever-changing landscapes are breathtaking and the stunning battle scenes give Ridley Scott a run for his money. So if you want to avoid sitting next to people munching through a smelly, three course meal, whilst guzzling down a bucketful of Coca Cola, texting their friends or verging on a passionate orgasm, make your next cinema visit to the Renior. Staying with film for the moment I had been trying for a long time to get a DVD of ‘The Pumpkin Eater’ 1964, directed by Jack Clayton. Based on Penelope Mortimer’s book it tells the story of a woman on the brink of a breakdown due to the philandering of her screenwriter husband. What makes it special – in addition to Clayton's beautifully sensitive direction – is Harold Pinter's rapier screenplay. It’s riddled with the physiological cruelty present in many marriages. Wonderfully acted by Ann Bancroft – at her most beautiful - and Peter Finch. Plus the added bonus of George Delarue’s haunting music score. A beautiful piece of 60’s British cinema, and a perfect complement to the Renoir.
The Renoir
The Brunswick Centre in the 1970s.
Mongol 2007 Directed by Sergei Bodrov
Peter Finch and Ann Bancroft in 'The Pumpkin Eater' 1964 Directed by Jack Clayton
Here are 15 books that helped to change my life. Well used. Well loved. And still with me. In no particular order, and there's one very important one missing. That will need a whole page to itself - more of which another time.
Earlier this year I was ask by Grafik Magazine to select a font character that I felt was special to me and explain why. This is what I said…
Baskerville 169 italic ampersand
Back in the still black and white early 60’s, I was an aimless and frustrated teenager trying to find an outlet for what I felt was an inner creative vocation, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. In between a series of mind numbingly boring jobs, I plucked up the courage to join an evening class. It was called Calligraphy and Illuminated Lettering. Sounds archaic I know, but it was in that very class, on many a dark winter’s evening that I fell in love with letterforms. Week after week I practiced until I knew every nook and cranny of a character. Later, I graduated to typefaces and had many affairs with those 26 little characters If I had to name one of my favourite typographical mistress', I would be torn between the Baskerville 169 italic ampersand or the equivalent in Caslon Old Style. They are both so curvaceous and sensual, they always give me a thrill. I first used one on a book cover in 1965. The title was The Tree & The Flood. I sandwiched the little beauty between the strapping shafts of Schnellfetter Grotesk caps (a typeface I used to cut out from the pages of Twen magazine). She complimented those tall robust figures perfectly. In homage to this eternal stunner I created my own T-shirt using the Baskerville version (I think my favourite) so that I could ware her close to my heart. For me type has always been an emotional thing. I can be very moved by an arrangement of type on a page.In these headed days of advanced technology it is uplifting to think of both William Caslon and John Baskerville beavering away at perfecting the typefaces that would carry their names not knowing that over 250 years later their work would still be in use looking as fresh and meaningful as the day they were first minted.
You’ll note I mentioned a T-shirt in the piece. Well, here it is. If you're interested in sporting one do contact me.
And here is the lovely Stephanie modeling one.
Well, I think it’s something like this. Below is my well-thumbed copy of the A to Z. It has been in the boots of my various cars for yonks. Now I have always hated Albertus. What? ‘Hate’ Albertus, sacrilege. Let me explain. One of my earliest jobs was assisting and elderly ‘commercial artist’ at a small studio in Ludgate Circus, London. He seemed ancient to me (I’m probably his age now) and always wore a suite -mostly tweed- with a waistcoat and tie. I was young, frustrated and wanted to be let loose on anything that was going to be printed. I’d say ‘Could we use Standard Medium on this?’ The response was always the same. ‘No I think Albertus would be better’. To me Albertus represented a typographical straight jacket. But suddenly now, looking at this well thrummed cover, I like it, and the utter directness of the design. Funny old world.
The thing about book covers, unlike most pieces of graphics, is that they tend to hang around forever. You’ll find them tucked away in dusty second hand bookshops, sitting quietly on library shelves or forming part of that stack of books you’ve been meaning to throw out for as long as you can remember. That’s what I love about them, and the whole notion of books. They have an expanded life, long after the initial purchase, and often the entire life of their purchasers. Here is one of my earliest book jacket designs, circa 1965. Found on Abe Books. The best second hand book site there is. Looking at it now, 43 years on, I suddenly remember exactly what I was doing at the time. I was handed the manuscript to read on the eve of a holiday to Dartmouth in Devon. I spent the entire two weeks thinking and worrying about what I was going to do for the cover. The illustration was done using black ink over Cow Gum as a resist which created the textural quality of the line. It was limited to three-colours, and I was desperate to use the extra-condensed headline typeface Schnelfetter Grotesk that appeared in the German magazine Twen – the very best in editorial design at that time and, when I could afford it would covet - so I cut out characters directly from the magazine to create the title. This is the result of my fledgling efforts as a twenty something…
Whatever it's amusing.
My first encounter with creativity proper was studying calligraphy and illuminated lettering at evening classes. This was back in the early 60s. It gave me a lifelong love of letterforms. So my visit today to the New Art Centre – an open-air sculpture park in rural Wiltshire - had an added dimension. Secreted within the walled kitchen garden was a series of poetic riddles. All were letter-cut into various types of stone by a group of skilled stonecutters. These slabs in a variety shapes and sizes looked at ease hidden amongst the herbaceous boarders and gooseberry bushes. But beyond the kitchen garden there were other, more dramatic, pieces. Sitting silently in a forest clearing were Peter Randell-Page’s magical and majestic granite boulders fashioned into natural organic shapes. You would be forgiving for thinking aliens had visited leaving behind them seedpods containing some kind of suspended life force. There are many other fine examples in this delightful sculptor park. Well worth the trek, www.sculpture.uk.com
Have you ever been to an exhibition where everyone is smiling and clearly enjoying the experience?
Well, I have. It's beautiful, bazaar and brilliant. 'Psycho Buildings' is a collection of artistic responses to architectural spaces, from the macabre to the mesmerizing. Smell, touch, see and hear special moments in these special spaces. Revert to a crawling child inside a geodesic dome or row in tiny boats on the rooftop pond. It's play, phantasy and a connection with other human beings removed, momentarily from daily reality. I loved it and being alive. Until 25 August at the Hayward Gallery, London.
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