Nalina Moses

ARCHITECT, WRITER, CURATOR

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Graphic artist Bishakh Som presented his work last week at the New School in conjunction with the New York Comics Symposium.  Som’s drawing style is dreamy and lyrical and his stories are biting (sometimes literally) and contemporary.  He was …

Graphic artist Bishakh Som presented his work last week at the New School in conjunction with the New York Comics Symposium.  Som’s drawing style is dreamy and lyrical and his stories are biting (sometimes literally) and contemporary.  He was trained as an architect and his backdrops (spaceships, follies, cars, suburban subdivisions, apartments) are fully alive, rendered with the same detail and complexity that his characters are.  His storytelling is gentle and elliptical, and he sometimes leaves frames empty – without action and dialogue – and these frames have surprising emotional force.  This, the power of a place, is something that most architects don’t understand.  They're typically too concerned with composition and joinery, perspective and procession, to recognize the primal, visceral force of a low ceiling, a high window, an empty stretch of road, or the light spilling across the kitchen floor early in the morning.

After discussing his comic influences (including TinTin, Archie, and Love and Rockets) and his technique (black ink brushwork, watercolors, and Photoshop) Som read a story called Come Back To Me, about a young married woman who lives in a secluded beach house. She’s not asking her husband, who frequently travels, to come back to her, but a young man she met during one of her husband’s absences who, unexpectedly, swept her away.  To convey that movement, a falling, Som shows the lovers pulled into the ocean by violent undercurrents, clinging tightly to one another as if they are the same person, simultaneously fearful and thrilled.  The water is rendered as a dense, grey field with knife-like folds.  We see the woman in the midst of an experience that she will never, fully, come back from.

Artwork from Come Back to Me by Bishakh Som.  Published in Blurred Books.  

September 03, 2013 by Nalina Moses
September 03, 2013 /Nalina Moses /Source
COMICS, GRAPHIC NOVELS, Bishakh Som, Tin TIn, Love and Rockets, Archie, ILLUSTRATION, GRAPHIC DESIGN
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Whether or not it’s the greatest rock and roll photograph ever taken, Bob Gruen’s famous 1973 portrait of Led Zeppelin in front of their plane is pretty great.  It’s richly composed, with the lilting horizontals of the fuselage and…

Whether or not it’s the greatest rock and roll photograph ever taken, Bob Gruen’s famous 1973 portrait of Led Zeppelin in front of their plane is pretty great.  It’s richly composed, with the lilting horizontals of the fuselage and wings in the background, the Cyclops-eye of the engine in the foreground, the four band members in the middle, and the mirrored clippings of the band’s logo at the top and their legs below.  The scene gets so many 70’s rock cliches right: the private plane, the shaggy hair, the open shirts, the super-tight flares.  While the goings-on inside the plane, an old United Airlines Boeing 720 fitted out with sectional furniture and rechristened the Starship, were not innocent, this photograph is.  It’s lovely.

A large part of the loveliness is Robert Plant.  Cover him up and what we have are three sour-faced lads huddled under a plane.  Led Zeppelin did a massive amount of posturing, both musically and theatrically, but Plant’s gesture here (hair tossed, hips cocked, arms outstretched) feels genuine.  With his left hand he tames the plane like a circus elephant, and with his right hand, raised behind him, he reaches for the sky.  The thick gold chain over his bare chest is macho, but softened by his repose.  There’s nothing apologetic and nothing ironic about his position.  He’s a rock star, and happy to be one.

Led Zeppelin, 1973.  Photograph by Bob Gruen.

August 30, 2013 by Nalina Moses
August 30, 2013 /Nalina Moses /Source
ROCK, PHOTOGRAPHY, PORTRAIT, Led Zeppelin, 70's, Robert Plant, Starship, Bog Gruen
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As much as I enjoyed reading Jeet Thayil’s Narcopolis from the US hardcover, with its tidy black jacket, I would have liked reading it from the UK hardcover much more.  That version has got gorgeous cover art by illustrator Jimmy Zombie, in a …

As much as I enjoyed reading Jeet Thayil’s Narcopolis from the US hardcover, with its tidy black jacket, I would have liked reading it from the UK hardcover much more.  That version has got gorgeous cover art by illustrator Jimmy Zombie, in a semi-abstract street-smart graphic style reminiscent of 1960’s psychedelic album and poster art.  The book tracks the lives of a transvestite prostitute, an over-the-hill poet, a Chinese soldier, a serial killer, a college-age burn-out, and a boy, as their paths cross in an Bombay opium den in the 1970’s.  Thayil uses water imagery (floods, rains, pools, oceans) to get at the encompassing, all-over, force of the drug, which suspends users inside seductive, restful hallucinations.  Then, as the characters begin to experiment with heroin, their drug-induced fantasies darken, and ghosts and demons emerge from the waters to pull them below.

Iovine’s dense, decentered composition (which leaves broad blank pools of black) and strange, acrid palette (bruise pink and mold green) conjure the airless, sunless Shuklaji Street rooms where the story unfolds.  And the wavering lines and lettering are, at once, the smoke from the pipe and the abstract, shifting, see-in-it-what-you-wish visions fueled by the drugs.  The American publishers remade this cover with banal, formal graphics, so it looks like the marketing prospectus for a new cough syrup.  Unlike most contemporary novels set in India, whose covers celebrate subcontinental cliches (mangoes, sari borders, hennaed hands) Narcopolis, in both its story and language, is deeply exotic, describing a small, hidden, ruinous world.  Zombie’s cover art moves to the pulse of it.

August 28, 2013 by Nalina Moses
August 28, 2013 /Nalina Moses /Source
GRAPHIC DESIGN, BOOK COVERS, Jimmy Zombie, Jeet Thayil, Narcopolis, opium, drugs, psychedelic, VBN
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A friend just had a baby and the Little Guy, underweight, spent a few days in the neonatal intensive care unit.  Another friend suggested that she get him an Ookie Doll, a little ribbon-trimmed cotton blanket that’s tied at the corners to shap…

A friend just had a baby and the Little Guy, underweight, spent a few days in the neonatal intensive care unit.  Another friend suggested that she get him an Ookie Doll, a little ribbon-trimmed cotton blanket that’s tied at the corners to shape a head and hands.  A mother sleeps with it and then sets it in her baby’s crib so that he’ll have her scent.  It’s the loveliest idea, a simple, natural way to connect mothers and babies who can’t be together.  But the doll couldn’t have a more sinister aspect.  With its hooded face and cloaked body it looks like a little klansman.  Even its name, derived from the Dutch word for “little one,” is troubling; it sounds like baby-speak for the letter “K.”

In the 1950’s psychologist Harry Harlow carried out now-famous attachment experiments with baby monkeys, taking them away from their mothers and setting them in cages with surrogate mother dolls, some made from wire and some from towels.  Those macaques with the towel “mothers” cuddled with them frequently and turned to them when frightened.  These dolls were made simply, from rolled bath towels and golf-ball-sized plastic heads.  Their eyes, mouth and nose were rendered so crudely, with buttons, it’s hard to believe the monkeys recognized them as faces.  What, apparently, gave comfort was the soft bundle for them to cling to.  So there has got to be a better way to make a bonding device for babies than the Ookie Doll.  Give them a doll that looks likes like a real person, or just give them a scrap of cloth.

August 26, 2013 by Nalina Moses
August 26, 2013 /Nalina Moses
DOLLS, TOYS, Ookie Doll, Harry Harlow, macaques, PSYCHOLOGY
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