WRITING PERFUME

In honor of Perfume Perfume week I'd like to pay tribute to one of my favorite works of fiction, Jitterbug Perfume, by Tom Robbins. Incidentally, Opus Oils in Hollywood has recently done the same, opening a perfume parlour last year named after the book. I think this is great, of course, and wish I could go to California to dream of speak easies and lie on one of the velvet chaises, a parfume attendant dragging viles of the Absinthe scent line under my nose and all of it taking on a dramatically burlesque quality. Revivalists are neat. They also offer classes for "The Art of making Natural Perfumes."

I imagine one of these natural perfumes is the parlour's signature scent--Jitterbug--which has a base note of jasmine. It's a decadent oil, from what's sometimes called the night-flowering tree, which Krishna planted for his wives in Hindu mythology. It's about as mystical as a plant gets, which is probably why Robbins used it in his 'epic' (or at least sprawling) mythology story as the potion at the bottom of a three-hundred-year-old blue glass bottle, as a scent that trails a New Orleans vagabond with a crown of swarming bees, as the cloud that engulfs Pan in the 8th century, and, most relevant to the plot and to Opus Oils, as the base note of fictional perfumer Madame Devalier's fragrance.

Robbins got giddy with alchemy and created a fake scent for the book, which just happens to be the basic formula for Opus Oils' Jitterbug Perfume. They also just happen to not mention that the signature scent was created by an author, not their team of expert parfumers. In fact, the website only offhandly mentions Robbins' novel amongst a string of other inspirations for the shop. I'm not hating on Opus Oils, but come on. They seem to be lacking a little imagination for their own products.

Robbins, on the other hand, is probably brilliant, and a prolific writer in every sense of the word. Though most of his novels were written between the seventies and nineties, they read timelessly (despite the sporadic Nader reference). He has an affinity for the obscure, and his work is the best social satire I've read to date. I'm probably soliciting that you read the book.

I HATE PERFUME

Christopher Brosius is a perfumer in Brooklyn who hates the smell of perfume. Instead of, you know, Vanilla Sex, he creates unorthodox scents. His first breakthrough was Dirt. Now he has this sprawling custom scent company with a manifesto that says "people who smell like everyone else disgust me."

I smelled "In The Library" this morning, which is supposed to smell like old books. I think it succeeds, but is it gross to smell like mold? I think instead I'd like him to blend a custom vile of my fifth birthday party or something.

Learn and buy at cbihateperfume.com

DANIEL HIGGS OF LUNGFISH

FFT COAT OF ARMS?

POLYSOMNOGRAPHY 1

Upon recent and historical investigation of my dreams, I hypothesize that I am either (a) a lucid dreamer or (b) frequently visited by dream spirits that deposit relevant data into my mind. The first case of my sleep study is an incident that occurred Monday night.


FOOTNOTE: A Radiolab episode on stochasticity explains the method in which we tell stories to portray them as more coincidental than what they really are.

While sleeping, it's possible that I will put bread in the toaster, roam the balcony longingly or take a full shower. Almost always, I'm totally conscious that my body is performing the actions, but I can't separate the dream world from reality. Four o'clock in the morning means nothing. Time and context are irrelevant. But I remember having done the things, and not because I smell like Bronner's or there is toast on the counter. I remember standing with the pen in my hand on Monday night, having written the area code and first three digits of a phone number down, waiting for the last four digits. Waiting. I remember feeling expectant of something in the room to give me the last four digits, and when that something did, I wrote them down.

Now this number is written on a paper on my desk. I go back to bed. Or continue sleeping, or whatever.

Tuesday morning while doing the usual yoga I consider how much pain is in my neck. Arthritis? Stress? Tiny elves with knives? Whatever it is has been bothering me for the last couple of weeks and I can't find a solution. During yoga and the consideration of this terrible pain, I stand up and see the paper with the phone number. Oh yeah. I was a crazy person with a pen last night.

Curiosity strikes and I google the number.
234-6791 is the number to a Boston accupuncturist, Thai Massage and Accupuncture.

I vote to not chalk this case as a coincidental, random organization of numbers, but to either a communication with the universe--or my own dream capability to navigate reality more thoughtfully. We'll see.

COMPOSED BY BIRDS

I love Jarbas Agnelli, Brazilian-based director and musician. His work is so thoughtful and his commercials are innovative, but most importantly, he's playful. My favorite is based on a photograph he found in a newspaper. He was curious to hear what melody the birds were making. Music made with Logic.

MORE WACIPI

So, in advance, I promise that there is a lot more to reservation life than wacipis/pow wows. But I was lucky enough to be here on Pine Ridge last weekend for the largest one in the nation, including 350 dancers from all corners of the country, and I happen to be obsessed with the event. There were so many fancy dancers, chicken dancers, jingle dancers and traditional dancers, that the grand entry took half an hour just to get them into the grounds. Shoot. It was the cover story in Rapid City's Native Sun News:

Majority of what I'm doing is construction and community work, which in time I'll post about. For now, the drum groups are still echoing. These are from my Standing in Light Series. It's too bad I only have a mediocre digital out here.

I caught her face from our float in the pre-pow wow parade. We built the skeleton of an outhouse onto a truck bed, since makeshift plumbing is our popular product. Pretty much everyone showed up on the main drag.

DANCERS

The 24th annual Oglala Lakota Nation pow wow last night:

Pine Ridge, SD

SUSAN TUTTLE ON FLICKR

Samples from Susan Tuttle's work. She teaches a Visual Poetry workshop on easy photo manipulation, and blogs through the wish studio blogspot.

LOOK UP

(Golden West)

Zac and I explored brunch and brewery in Bmore, but the best part was this bathroom.

ETSY FINDS

DANGER OF THE DESCENT-steel engraving-1892

WATER BABIES- lithograph-1929

BATTLE BETWEEN ANTEDILUVIAN MONSTERS-steel engraving-1892



SurrenderDorothy's shop on Etsy sells antique ephemera goods like these. For cheap.

APOLOGETIC COW

Hanging out with my brother, he published three books in one morning. Note the committment to minimalism.

THE REINCARNATION OF SAINT-ORLAN

French artist Orlan lives in LA and stages performances of her own plastic surgery. She installs podcasts for viewers to watch live in museums across the country. She alters her face to match historical images of beauty, until her appearance is a mixture of every concept of the iconic female identity. She says she experiences no pain.

Kind of the opposite of art for art's sake. She really makes me consider the body as a medium, beyond all boundaries. She once measured her body, called it the Orlan Body and used it as a unit to measure given architectural spaces. She also founded the first online magazine of contemporary art, back in the early eighties on France's internet precursor, the Minitel. I'm studying her bloody face for a project this week, and I find her terrifying in a very giddy way.

FLUXUS // YOKO OKAY

TOUCH IT:

SPEAK IT:

painting to shake hands

(painting for cowards)

drill a hole in a canvas and put your

hand out from behind.

receive your guests in that position.

shake hands and converse with hands.

1961 autumn

yoko ono, grapefruit

PLAY IT:

da da da da da da da da repeat until there is no more object

GILBERT AND GEORGE

SINGING SCULPTURE, 1969

They've been wearing the suits since then. They don't go anywhere without them, or each other. Gilbert and George do everything together. They make these:

shit and piss

They're wonderful.

DANSE DU SERPENTINE

I've been looking at movement. This is Loie Fuller in 1896 as one of the first dancers to work with light as a focused source. She covered her body in fluorescents and died of radium poisoning.

MIDEO CRUZ

I met Mideo Cruz today,aninstallation artist from the Philippines who does provocative work with soundscapes and sensory bombardments. He's usually an active part of his own pieces but he only interacts with viewers if he's not cold. Most of his stuff is a highly political commentary on capitalism, wealth, and greed. He is all about blood, violence, Coca Cola, the color white, Disney, and blasphemy. He wears a silver butterfly in his right ear. He collected the bones for this piece for ten years, and the meat is fresh raw lamb. Check out THE NEW WORLD DISORDER, his international artist's movement. He's quite softspoken.

FEBRUARY FAMILY FLIPCAM

February from brittanie sterner on Vimeo.

1. memorie installation
2. " "
3. Peter and the bureaucracy, as per Zac
4. park st.
5. doesn't look too bad
6. a very long engagement in the max
7. post bread and puppet, Cyclorama, BCA, as per helen
8. Publishing house at Eleven Cambridge Center, snowday

GENEALOGY

The Sterner Swimsuit Calendar:

"Arizona's most beautiful women in a swimsuit calendar to benefit Arizona's animal shelters."

This is Vanessa, with Bently. I hope we're related.

FUTURE SHORTS

"This is Me" written and directed by Sam Arthur

My roommate Steve has been showing me a plethora of these videos from futureshorts.com, the UK short film organisation that runs mini film festivals in 25 countries.

I particularly like this one.