Writing
My handmade spoons
My love brought me a gift one day. There in a box were two handmade, wooden spoons laid in perfect parallel on a cloud of white, tissued paper.
It wasn’t a special day. He’d seen the spoons in one of those north London design emporia with humble, handmade items finely made by artisans whose names we could know. He was cultured, but not in the habit of entering such shops. The discovery excited him. Enjoying the fragrant interior and the care and welcome of staff, he had wished to share the experience. Resolving to memorialise the trip, he’d selected a pair of tiny rustic spoons carved from soft wood, as an impromptu gift.
Perhaps they were the least expensive of the ‘useful items’, or perhaps he'd predicted my response. He presented the gift breezily as he arrived with groceries. It stopped me in my tracks. In this humble item and simple gesture was so much that I valued in human endeavour, and in personal relationships. As I lifted a spoon, a delicate card dangled to confirm its sustainable origins and Italian maker. They were fine, yet I could see the maker’s hand. Nestled in their graceful box they seemed as rare and beautiful as any precious stone and in that moment - looking at my love, looking at my spoons - I knew that I was cherished, and that I was understood.
I admired the spoons on my open shelf, the warm wood set off by the glossy white kitchen surfaces. Their tiny curved bowls amazed me. They were miraculous and they seemed a solid pair, like us. They made me smile. In time, the love was replaced by friendship, but the spoons have remained. Here they sit, on another open shelf, in a different London flat and still I smile when I see them there. Not in memory of lost love, but in gratitude for the gift of being cherished and understood. My handmade spoons, my tiny miracles, my handmade recovery.
Locating character through make-up: Kabuki & the art of transformation
Kabuki is a form of traditional Japanese drama that emerged (1603-1868) at the beginning of the Edo period. Originally created by and performed exclusively by women, until females were banned in 1629, Kabuki is still recognised as an art in which actors wear Kesho, a very heavy and dramatic white makeup, which historians believe made it easier for actors to be seen onstage in the centuries before they were lit with electricity.
In the art of kabuki, there is no specialist for the makeup, rather the actor that is playing the role does their own make up in the spirit that the makeup is part of the act. It is designed to show the individual character of both the role, and the actor, and is unique for each person.
The use of transformational makeup in many cultures can be traced back to ancient religious rituals and as such ceremonies evolved into theatre over time, performances maintained elements of the ritual origins without the specific religious context, including elements of masking and makeup to allow modern performers to portray supernatural and mythological figures, transforming the actors.
A functionality of any extravagant transformational makeup like this is to generate the suspension of disbelief in the audience so that they can accept the convention that they are in the presence of supernatural beings during a performance.
The process of applying makeup also allows the actor to get to know the character they play. The concentrated process of painting oneself is part of the actor’s internal preparation to present the mythic persona required.
For supernatural heroes and villains, which appear frequently in Kabuki plays, there is a special style of makeup called kumadori. In the original tradition, Kumadori was applied by actors with their fingers so they could take the pattern of their bone structure as they painted themselves. It is not considered so much face painting as “pattern-taking”, as in an actor ‘taking an impression’ of their own face. The makeup itself does not function as a mask to hide the actor. It is designed to capture and project the expressions of the actor in enhanced form, to externalize the inner persona of a role through a design that responds to the actor’s features.
Today the Kumadori still lives and moves in Kabuki with each facial gesture of the actor, through designs bold enough to project the performance throughout the theatre. The makeup of Kabuki actors is considered such an important aspect of the performance that it is common for actors to press a silk cloth to their faces to make a print of their makeup when the play is over. These cloth face-prints become valued souvenirs of the performance.
Author and Kabuki make up expert, CHRISTOPHER AGOSTINO, explains,
“In its original function, body art, from tribal origins through modern cultures, is a social act, elevating an individual above his natural/animal state to mark him as a member of human culture and his specific social group. In modern cultures, transformational makeup survives in the arts, in theatre, in movies, where its most profound use is to take the wearer beyond his humanity so he can portray the supernatural and the superhuman.”
Kabuki BAM is my new series of works on paper depicting futuristic nudes with hair and makeup inspired by the Kabuki technique of 'masking' to transform and find the character within.
Sources:
http://goinjapanesque.com/10660/
http://thestorybehindthefaces.com/2012/01/20/kumadori-japanese-kabuki-theatre-makeup/
Feature 3
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