Books

February 05, 2008

monkey see

Library_1106

When ripening, bananas don’t really smell like bananas. Instead they have an elusive, heady, ozone smell. (Maybe it’s the smell of ethylene—bananas have a higher concentration of that gas than other, rounder, fruits.) I mention this, not as a gratuitous phallic food reference, but because it explains why I didn’t realize that the new Stefan Sagmeister exhibition, Things I Have Learned In My Life So Far, contained a wall of the elongated, green, yellowing, soon-to-be-brown-and-attracting-fruit-flies, produce.

After walking past the reception desk at Deitch Projects, and checking out the title work, Things I Have Learned In My Life So Far, an installation of blank note pads waiting to be filled, I headed into the larger gallery. My nose picked up the sweet, chemical odor before my gaze traveled over to the 10,000 bananas. The piece, Self-confidence Produces Fine Results, spells out those words in green and yellow fruit: The sampler slogan, already obscured, as the unripe font turned golden in the warm room.

The things the graphic designer has learned in his life so far are simple truisms done up in quirky drag, but I’ve always liked this growing collection. Sagmeister transforms near-clichés into aphorisms that tap into how a creative mind works. 43 folders has the entire list here. Picking a favorite is tough. Today it is “Having guts always works out for me.” I am not sure it always holds true, but it is something to live up to. I’ll abide by the banana billboard as well.

Library_1104
Things_install_4

August 11, 2007

pattern language

Pattern
Self-portrait with frost and terrazzo.

Over at varnelis.net, Kazys posts about his William Gibson mini-obsession—in light of the recently released Spook County. The enthusiasm is infectious, and I’ve allowed it to lead me to Gibson’s 2003 novel, Pattern Recognition.

Forty pages in, the novel makes me jittery, filled as it is with jet lag and brand name anxieties. The details overwhelm: catalogs of cool desires and detachments. It stirs up memories of a year where, coolhunter adjacent, I worried if my jeans were a dark enough hue. Soon after I switched to corduroy.

Page 19 offers up an addition to my catalog of eyeglass-related quotes:

Brutally cropped, he regards her from the depths of massive, mask-like Italian spectacles. The black-framed glasses remind her of emoticons, those snippets of playschool emotional code cobbled up from keyboard symbols to produce sideways cartoon faces. You could do his glasses with an eight, hyphen for his nose, the mouth a left slash.

8-\. The international symbol for dork. Cool be damned.