Neil Packer

Neil Packer

Odysseus Clung to its Fleece

circa 2012

     This is a very clever form of space-saving story-telling, its style of ‘registered’ portrayal familiar to many cultures, old and new. Packer reinvents it with a personal flair, found in his characteristic taste for bold colour and in his twisted subjects, their bodies occasionally appearing to be both flat and many-dimensional at the same time. Keeping in mind the popular use of precious stones in works of art like, for example, the Standard of Ur (circa 2500 B.C., the British Museum (London)) whose inlaid décor falls along similar rows of figural registers, it is not surprising that this illustration also incorporates the idea of ‘inlaid’ lapis lazuli. As in the Standard of Ur, the stone not only elevates the work of art in which it is used to an extremely high and respected status within the context for which it was originally made, but it also gives value to the narrative that it illustrates, making it nearly as important as, perhaps, a holy script. It is likely, therefore, that Packer used a vibrant bright blue in the scene of Odysseus and his comrades’ sneaky escape from Polyphemus, a rather dimwitted cyclops, to render its importance as more worthy and notable than those of the lesser scenes within Homer’s Odyssey as a whole. Though who can truly judge one scene as being better or worse than another? There are definitely those who find the act of fleeing from a hungry giant while disguised as the woolly underbellies of sheep memorable, but there might be those who find the mere act of Queen Penelope pouring grains of barley into a basket equally, if not more, memorable.

Alexander McQueen: the Clothing (Part II)

Alexander McQueen

Evening Dress from the VOSS Collection

circa 2001

(ostrich feathers (dyed) and painted microscope slides)

     Perhaps this piece celebrates the glory of mortality. It is meant to signify blood, to enhance the beauty of what sustains life the most. To simply be alive relies on as little as the delivery of oxygen to the brain from one’s source of blood, whether or not one is entirely healthy. The troupe of feathers used in the skirt of this dress may serve as the underlying message behind the power of blood: that as easily as it may appear to give life, it may just as swiftly extinguish it. This is an idea that relates to the dynamics of flight; it is a motion that can lift incredible weights with apparently so little, and yet it can instantly fail without air. For something to function with such force while relying on a source that is only as limitless and strong as it is present is a likely thought that fuels the fear of death in many human minds. It is the inability, or the refusal, to grasp that all things in life are inevitably connected, and that no matter how independent or self-sustaining one thing may seem to be, it is still only a question of time before its weakness is revealed. Flight without air is, so far, impossible, just as life without blood is, so far, impossible. There is little else that is as universal and unifying as the colour of that which courses through all of our veins, and it is this that McQueen delivers through the form of clothing: that far from being afraid or weary of death, one should realise that is the mere form of its counterpart, life, that is immortally beautiful and many-faceted, and that it deserves a respect that we should all wear with pride.

the Wiener Werkstätte: the Object

the ‘KKZ’(?) or ‘YPW’(?) Austrian Primary School

Portfolio (with blank sheets within)

circa 1913

     This appears to be a gift made by teachers for parting ‘children of the third year course’, as the lettering below the illustration roughly reads. It is a blank folio, clearly stippled together with care, whose cover decoration pays homage to the contemporary Viennese tastes in art of the 1910s. It is difficult to determine from this photograph, however, whether the illustration is an original work or whether it is merely a replicated form of an original. If, as the inscription implies, the folio was indeed made by a teaching institution for its young pupils, it seems unlikely that the school would have afforded the expense of colour-printing copies of this illustration for an indefinite handful of students. It is probable that, rather than making one for each student, the teachers crafted this single folio for the entirety of the third year course, making it an all the more memorable and commemorative piece for the children as a whole. This is a theory that supports the idea that the illustration is an original painted piece, with the additional details of the loosely-sewn binding, the slightly jagged-edged pages (of which there are only a few) and the marginally off-centred cover illustration itself (laterally) further proving that this portfolio was assembled without the aid of fancy machines. It is undoubtedly a fragile piece of the past, made of only paper and glue and string, but it is nonetheless a gift that has endured more than one hundred years of life so far, with its black papery skin nearly as tough and new as it was on its first day as is its painted vase of bright oranges and greens and blues to this day still.

Fabergé: the Bird

Peter Carl Fabergé

Chouette

circa 1900

(tiger-eye, obsidian and diamond)

     Its eyes immediately capture those of its onlooker: they flash with wide-eyed attentiveness, each inlaid snugly into soft striated beds of obsidian. Its pose suggests that the owl has only just spotted us, its many-headed observer, as it seems to have quickly swivelled its head only moments ago to face this new interest. Taking notice of its posture, however, reveals that the owl is not, in fact, as weary or afraid of us as it may appear. Plump and rather hefty (or just extra ‘fluffy’), it solidly squats on the full extent of its bottom without placing the slightest strain onto its feet. This pose does not imply that the owl threatens to push off into flight at any ominous sign or sudden movement but that, on the contrary, it would prefer to remain in its comfortable huddle of feathers without the bothersome hassle of having to move a single claw in the foreseeable future. It may ruffle its plumage every now and again or twitter frustratingly at the lack of entertainment it expects from us, but it nevertheless remains a bird whose physical language deems its character curious and quizzical rather than merely pudgy and politely bored. This is yet another Fabergé piece that has the uncanny ability to draw from its audience an instinctual compulsion to protect and care for a stone creature, as if it were indeed a true live one, or to at least pause and return this particular owl's gaze with an equal gesture of friendly acceptance - no matter size, shape, species or stumpy stance.