Sebastian Horsley and The Genuine Death of a Real Fake

   Sebastian Horsley lived and died as a Real Fake, but one should never underestimate the sincerity of a man who so gleefully flaunted his artifice in the faces of others. Indeed, when the news broke last Friday, I thought it an obvious joke on his part – “Live fast, die youngish, leave the corpse of a popinjay behind" – believing that he was far more likely to die of the STDs he’d doubtlessly been amassing over the years, perhaps cataloguing them under the names of the whores that gave them to him

   Of course, he did claim that the whores were cleaner than women of the non-streetwalking demographic

   We had two run-ins

   The second was more interesting in that I was out carousing that evening, surrounded by exquisitely crafted artwork and speaking with a few interesting people. He came to view his portrait, painted by our mutual friend Ian Bruce. Evidently feeling less than garrulous, he mentioned his pleasure with his visage and left within the opening hour, presumably to retake his place as a pink suited London boho in a Soho watering hole. I was looking for trouble that night; I should have taken his number

   The first was never catalogued because neither Style Time nor Mode Parade existed in those days, and because frankly, it’s a non-story. In early 2008, I visited Dover Street Market and found him, not totally unexpectedly, by the mirrored lift exterior on the ground floor

   Something in his eyes suggested recognition; of my face or my own penchant for reconfigured gentleman’s dress, I couldn’t say. I was wearing a black Cossack-styled coat over a plaid shirt with a club collar, a French blue silk tie, a black waistcoat with a knit back and sides, and black trousers whilst also wielding an umbrella; perhaps I resembled a personification of Death in Harlem of the 1970s or one of his junk trips

   I recognised him; that was enough to exchange “Hellos” and nods. And then he walked before I could ask if he was claiming freebies from the store; the Comme des Garçons Homme Plus collection he’d partially inspired and modelled in Paris a year prior was winding down its sale that week. But maybe he’d have not appreciated it. And yet on that day, he was wearing that same signature outfit, despite lacking the lookalikes:

   Following his performance on the catwalk, Sebastian afterwards wrote that he was fresh from a diagnosis of syphilis. Given the sexual cachet of male models, he was probably in large company. Such a man would certainly have been pleased with such likeminds

   Although I’m presently over 2000 miles away and will definitely miss it, the one man play of Horsley’s autobiography, Dandy in the Underworld, has taken the stage in London and should be seen for the curiosity, if nothing else. I understand it’s fairly naughty. But it will certainly be performed by Milo Twomey with more sincerity now than there was before

   And hopefully, my favourite door on Meard Street will remain as a mark of fond remembrance:

Sebastian Horsley, 1962 – 2010

Runway photographs: GQ

The Stephanie Rushton Portrait Shoot Bonus

www.stephanierushton.com

All Earthlings

   This is a post about the photographer Richard Kalvar

   In a 1990s issue of DC Comics' Supergirl written by Peter David, one character, anti- heroic demonic rogue Buzz, questions humanity's received wisdom of our own capacity for enlightenment, spiritual purity and self-glorification when we're essentially ridiculous beings lumbered with embarrassing functions such as ablutions. The gag's on us. I received quite an evocation of that insight when I first saw Richard Kalvar's Earthlings

   Kalvar does not so much pose questions with his unposed photographs as he invites the viewer to complete the sentences - the necessary elucidation is entirely up to us. In a sense, his preference for titling his subjects "earthlings" is explication in itself. We have as much a clue of the workings of each scene as its participants; indeed, as its creator, purportedly, at least. Not all that we do is clarifiable; think of the discomfort of strangers at a random look cast askance by another and suddenly anything we do could be construed as downright weird. The absurdity of such happenings cannot be minimised

   Kalvar does not stray often from black and white, which fuels the intrinsic abstraction of his work. The images are not titled, rather filed by date and location. They are seemingly built around the disconnect that occurs when a moment is immortalised on camera, removing that moment from the flow of natural events in a freeze framed second. And it proposes a view of life in which all human activity can be thought of as opaque and unordinary and bizarrely comic given the right pair of eyes. Naturally, such views and practices resonate with me

   I don't have to walk too far to cross the looking glass of the absurd these days - there are enough men and women here at all times of day openly pissing in the streets with the conspicuous abandon of the average 3am urbanite drunkard, enough people who are apparently disinterested in raping me yet will not take no for an answer if they believe that they can get something out of one of my pockets, enough transpicuous philandering that polygamy may as well be legalised for the non-nobles

   It's not our fault; we were just made this way, no?

Richard Kalvar is represented by Magnum Photos. Interviews may be perused here and there. All material is copyright

Old Face

All photographs are copyright of Dean Chalkley via Creative Review

   I've never given much credit to those who treat their existences as an extended costume party, even if I'm fond of their references. In cloning the past, usually in a bid to protest against much of the cultural change since, the reenactors normally, and shamelessly, forego personal originality entirely

   If you've an eye for detail, a knowledge of useful resources, a love for vintage and hate the modern shopping experience, period dress is all too easy. And often too boring. To me, that seems like a rather celebratory admission of a poverty of thought, not unlike a wasted weekend

   This is why I champion costumes that actually personalise their historical exhumations. The various outfits worn by the BBC's premier alien, the Doctor, for example, all respond to archetypes such as "Edwardian," "Continental," "Dandy" and "Hoxton Professor" but usually bend those confines in a way that can be recognised as individual creativity (the artful dishevelment and idiosyncratic footwear of the Scots Doctors, Tennant and McCoy; the mastery over sartorial excess of Pertwee; the clownish yet slightly dignified inverse of Hartnell's attire sported by Troughton and, mandatory for such discussion, Tom Baker's scarf), nevermind that the costumes are ultimately decided and realised by a designer and the showrunner, alongside the actor, if their input is appreciated, that is (pity poor Colin Baker)

   Parallel to this, designers who will tweak conventions and rethink standards are my kind of creators - my Junya Watanabe (whose latest aesthetic nods to the subculture on display here) preference is emblematic of this stance. And what he does with the 20th century's traditional male silhouette, certain musical albums from his homeland dissected in this column have been doing to music once thought to be irrelevant in modern times with the prepotency of near or full genius

   Therefore, what most entices me about The New Faces photographs of eight retro-mods was not the garments of the gang but the eye of their beholder, Dean Chalkley. In a London that has never quite fallen out of love with Mod - one need only visit Topman to confirm this - it's simple to understand how this has come about, but Chalkley is talented enough to make this interesting and masterfully arranged. Forgetting the attire for the moment, there's something of the actual 1960s cultural snapper about his work, from the way that the subjects' goofing around transforms the traditionally sterile studio setting into a groovy, expansive playground through sheer energy (or, in the case of early Doctor Who, a clinically flat alien land) to the emphasis on capturing and advocating their self confidence and love of clothes

   The photographs exemplify Chalkley's fashion shoot stylings in their generally full length compositions, detail-framing closeups and undistracting settings, and so are unambiguously focused on the looks and attitudes of their subjects. They're also consummately professional and designed in a way that is redolent of the black and white music television that this group undoubtedly loves. It's unsurprising that Chalkley relates to them; having performed assignments for Ben Sherman and taking a suggestion from Paul Weller as the name of the show whilst photographing him, he first met them at the club night he runs in London's Highgate. They share a common affection for music, clothing, and the synergy thereof, and particularly that of a certain time and place. And he cannily suggests their hobbies by photographing their dancing, neatly underlining that synergy that has brought these people together

   Ultimately, I always preferred the Peacock Revolution, but I could never discourage an interest in dressing and dancing amongst the young

Dean Chalkley. His sense of style is not unappealing

   The New Faces exhibition is currently at The Book Club in London until April 29th. The Jukebox Jam record label has selected a run of limited edition seven-inch vinyl reissues of obscure 1950s and 60s US rhythm and blues to "soundtrack" the show; clips are available on Chalkley's website

The Stephanie Rushton Portrait Shoot, Part Two

   Alternate angles of café culture and on-the-street photographic reportage

   I'll never sit for Norman Parkinson, but Stephanie's talent makes this as great an honour

 

  

  

The Jamie Archer Portrait Shoot, Part Two

   Featuring whimsy, nudity and an unfurled umbrella indoors

   I wonder if we'll ever be allowed across the museum's threshold again (it was Jamie's choice of venue, in any event)

 

  

  

  

  

The Jamie Archer Portrait Shoot, Part One

   Jamie is the online brand-building whiz who shot the Ian Bruce exhibition photographs that were featured here last autumn, as well as a close-up that we could both dine out on if my marketing skills were at their peak. Here, he asked me to bother the security guards and patrons at the permanent collections of the Victoria & Albert Museum. And I couldn't resist - one could list "Confusing, distracting and endangering stray passers-by" on my CV

   The more childish shots shall be featured in Part Two. Jamie's other space is here:

 

  

 

The Stephanie Rushton Portrait Shoot, Part One

   The short version: Stephanie meets Winston at a party, photographs him, is subsequently referred to me and a breezy early evening in Mayfair becomes photographic memories for all

Synchronised Swanning and Anish Kapoor

Photograph by YF

   Back in the RA courtyard after observing a bullet of red wax shot out of an air compression cannon  (Shooting into the Corner) at the Anish Kapoor show. The poses struck by myself and YF's lady are close enough to inspire the dreadful punning in the title

   I enjoyed thinking of how high the cleaning bill for removing all the dried wax from the walls and floors at the RA would be, but I especially like what Kapoor does with mirrors, transporting them out of the funhouse and onto the gallery floor. One would think that removing the spooky dark rooms and the disco smoke machines from the equation would take away much of the pleasure of narcissistic image distortion, and actually, in a way, it does. Unless one is one of the many half term-celebrating urchins running unfettered throughout the exhibition, that is

   Also prominent amongst these appealing constructs, Hive (womb symbolism meets the inside of an ocean liner's hull meets an echo chamber) and Yellow (a concave fibreglass and pigment-based work that belies the inverse dome in the centre by appearing solid if stared at long enough) were similarly striking and inviting of momentary scrutiny. I think I want to go again

Outsmarting The Daleks

Photograph by YF. Title inspired by BC on StyleForvm

   Much like EJ and Steve of Style Salvage, I've always had more than an occasional torrid fling with the concept of a personal uniform. I'm certainly living it right now - it's been little other than jacket-and-tie or jacket-and-waistcoat-and-tie for the past month or so - and while it won't approach an apex any time soon, it does start to feel a little constricting (much like my strange penchant for wearing my Junya trench to art shows). I do not plan on creating any full-on streetwear ensembles, but the notion of placing such garments back into my ensemble is a rather tempting one. As I recall, my aesthetic of six years ago was about creating traditionally inspired outfits out of streetwear; possibly the folly of youth, but at least it was an entertaining and challenging idea, and somehow I neatly avoided resembling a member of a seventh tier indie band

   Of course, the flipside is that I usually set out to entertain and enliven myself with my traditional ensembles. Hence the ever-exuberant colour mixing and pattern clashing. And no, I did not wake up that morning intending to match my tie to my umbrella, but fate is funny like that

   I'm standing outside my modern art TARDIS in the courtyard of the Royal Academy of Arts in Piccadilly, which currently hosts the works of Anish Kapoor. I'm rather looking forward to catching the show, possibly next week at that. Good weekend, all


   P.S. Dear Steven Moffat, if another regeneration is forthcoming, holla at me. Yours, B.O.N.

an.evening.in.flux

 All photographs © Erno Raitanen

   As art.in.flux's recently mentioned Suspended in Process exhibition comes to an end, I had the pleasure of having this selection of photos from the opening night delivered to my inbox by enterprising young Finnish shutterbugger, Erno Raitanen (another Finnish photographer? My Pokemon collection has been truly superseded). He has quite an eye, I trust you'd all agree:

In conversation with S and Winston

Special thanks to Kat for inviting me and art.in.flux for organising such an interesting evening

Outfit - Brucey Bonus

   A wonderful snap taken by Jamie in Soho after the shenanigans at Ian's were done. Whilst I'm at it, I'd like to congratulate Ian on another fine showing last night

The Exchange Room of Mr Ian Bruce

All photographs © Jamie Archer **

   10 years ago, back at school, it became apparent to me as I focused intently on  completing second tier painting coursework that Ian Bruce was a disgustingly talented individual who was born to brighten up a canvas. And, to be blunt, he's also far nicer than I am. But we still became friends somehow. Life's that funny

   In the years since I said goodbye to all that, Ian's morphed into something of a dandy, formed a band  named after the best two tone shoes in the world, The Correspondents, and wields a paintbrush or five in a manner of which the creative world of London is growing rather fond, as evidenced by the massive crowd that attended his recent show early last month. Since it's rather likely that the same thing is going to happen in a few days' time, I think it's very much of the moment to give my pal his due here

   This link explains it all, but the Reader's Digest version is that Ian showcased works created by friends and collaborators in exchange for portraits in his distinctive figurative style of those involved, which included particularly excellent "one good turn" portraits of Ian himself by gifted photographers Jess Bonham and Wendy Bevan. The nine-foot portrait of reputedly immoral artist Sebastian Horsley (sporting the same top hatted ensemble that swathed him on Comme des Garcons Homme Plus' catwalk in 2007) was put under the hammer by auction house Lyon & Turnbull over the weekend; the proceeds of which are intended for flying The Exchange Room to New York City at a future juncture

Ian's portrait of Horsley. It definitely adds much character, moral or otherwise

   Since Ian's work is bold and full of life, it stands to reason that his subjects follow suit. Particularly hilarious was Bonham's large scale concept of a nude Ian "chasing" his clothed Correspondent alter ego, while Bevan's nostalgicly misty close-ups are as evocative as usual for her. Katherine May's purses ripped up, rewired and reformed as rather heavy boutonnieres (well, they still contained quite a bit of loose change) were also a genuine delight and I'd love to see more examples of her creative textile manipulation in future

** Except these photographs

   Sartorialists may be most interested in this portrait within a portrait of Ian's father, along with a bespoke suit commissioned by Ian in return for the aforementioned painting. In it, Mr Bruce models the three piece made for his similarly built son by the tailor Jonathan Quearney; the artisan will hang the portrait in his shop. To bring this paragraph full circle, here's an interview with Jonathan, courtesy of The Sartorialist

   Photographs of the attendees follow here:

Guy Hills, one of the two masterminds behind Dashing Tweeds, in an Exploded Houndstooth safari suit of his own design

Your author with Donald of Great British Attire, a man who knows what he's talking about

Our photographer stands on the far left

   Ian's latest presentation is as part of a group ensemble show, Suspended in Process, hosted by Art.In.Flux, taking place at 14 New Quebec Street, London W1H 7RV from the 9th to the 18th of October. And I'm sure you LDN-based readers aren't busy all the time, yes?