Portobello Market

This article was part of a digital recording project I've participated in with other students from the University of Westminster, in partnership with the Museum of London

July 2013

You observe the endless stalls on either sides of the street. You want to buy the vegetables, the cameos, the antique prints, but you prefer staring, enjoying the comfort of your seat. Suddenly, you notice a tall man wearing a blue shirt and carrying his jacket over his left shoulder. He turns around and scrutinises the camera through his blue eyes. Have you recognised him?

Portobello Market, made famous by Hugh Grant’s wandering through the road of the same name in the romantic comedy Notting Hill, counts among the most popular West London destinations for tourists and locals. It is notably famous for displaying one of the world’s largest selections of antiques and collectibles.

We deliberately arrived when the hustle, haggle and crowds were at their liveliest, on a late Saturday morning. Portobello streches for over more than one mile: you first come across antiques and bric-a-brac to notice fruit and vegetables sold around the Elgin Crescent crossing. The rest of the market is devoted to cheap toys or batteries and second hand clothes. The shop managers on the two sides of the road take advantage of the Saturday market to stay open and attract customers.  

   

Our recorder often went unnoticed, so we had the opportunity to register many private conversations and accents. The loudest sellers were definitely those who offered meal deals. In fact, the food corner looked so mouth-watering that Clarisa and I couldn’t resist the temptation to have lunch in the street.

Portobello hosts by far one of the busiest markets I’ve ever seen, sometimes you can barely move and we often lost track of each other! On your journey, you are accompanied by several live bands and bizarre performers, but the sonic memory I will probably keep in mind is the one of this stallholder selling old records and vinyls, singing out loud over the tunes he was playing.

         

Brick Lane Market

This article was part of a digital recording project I've participated in with other students from the University of Westminster, in partnership with the Museum of London

27 June 2013

‘You can spread your soul over a paddy field, you can whisper to a mango tree, you can feel the earth between your toes and know that this is the place, the place where it begins and ends.’

Monica Ali, Brick Lane (2004)

This quotation from Bangladeshi author Monica Ali, to my mind, perfectly epitomises the multicultural mood of Bricklane, its nearby alleys, hues, smells and noises. Formerly established as a farmer’s market in the seventeenth century, the marketplace has been transformed by successive waves of Bangladeshi immigrants. As many Londoners would tell you, almost anything can be found on Bricklane, from antiques, vintage records and clothes to a wide range of international cuisine. Fancied by art students and bargain hunters, it is renowned for its street artworks by Banksy and D*Face.

                                    

Bricklane Market runs every Sunday from 9 am to 5 pm. It is divided in several sections such as the Sunday UpMarket, the Backyard and the Vintage Market, the Tea Rooms and the Boiler House Food Hall. We mostly stayed on the main street but allowed ourselves to enter some of these arcades like the Backyard Market and the Food Hall, now operating as showcases for emergent designers and organic food tasting.

The element which struck Clarisa and I was the huge size of the market, which partly accounts for the length of our recording. When we got to the Hanbury Street crossing, we realised that the northern end of the street was invaded with stalls and covered warehouses converted into halls.

   

We decided to go at the busiest moment of the day, that is, lunchtime. Bricklane Market was decidedly more diverse in terms of customers; most of them were tourists, notably from French, Hispanic and Asian origins. Despite its bustle, I had the feeling that it was quieter than the Flower Market: to attract customers, stallholders would directly come towards you and value face-to-face exchange rather than shout to offer their best deals.

The main difficulty we experienced was to capture a full conversation. We did not wish to stand too close to customers for fear of appearing intrusive. When we approached stalls, sellers thought we wanted to purchase some goods. They gave us strange looks while we shook our heads in refusal. Still, I really appreciated this silent mode of communication, as we had to express where we wanted to go by signs, something that completely contrasted with the agitation of the street.

 

13 August 2013

‘Cherry, cherry!’ yells one of the fruit and veg stallholders at the crossing of Bethnal Green Road and Shoreditch High Street.

                                        

We started our journey at 1.30 where many bike riders come to a halt to enjoy the atmosphere of Brick Lane market, its display and products. The Shoreditch part is by far one of the strangest marketplaces we have ever experienced, but in a way, it perfectly embodies the eccentric mood of London. On Bethnal Green Road, two car parks have been converted into a series of stalls presenting anything you can possibly find in the supermarket at discount prices: toiletries, batteries, cooking devices or stationary. We even spotted bike wheels and coffee beans sacks waiting to be purchased.

                                                   

A variety of musical styles was registered, either to keep sellers company or performed by street bands: early fifties rock’n’roll, contemporary RnB, drum’n’bass and folk. The cosmopolitan dimension was well represented as you had the impression that countries from all continents had gathered on this Sunday afternoon to produce a mosaic of accents and languages. Japanese, Bangladeshi or Afghan sellers would greet you with a smile to ask you how you were. A Spanish man approached a cook serving empanadas in his native language, but she replied that unfortunately, she was Italian. It was amusing to observe French people and detect their nationality from the start, just by looking at their clothes. 
                                          

As we elbowed our way through the main road, it was so crowded that sometimes we could barely move. Around the Backyard Market, we noticed a couple of stalls we hadn’t seen before, such as an artist cutting your face’s silhouette on paper in the Victorian style. Many customers were trying on vintage cameras. Once more, it was loud and busy. As a whole, the audience seemed more relaxed and vibrant than in other markets we have visited.

Yep, Brick Lane is definitely one of the most diverse places of London in terms of population, cuisine and goods.

                                                   

Tribute to the White Stripes: this love affair

A Gee, Barre de Faire et Pierrot Lunaire

But most obviously, to Roll the Dice and the rock on Clifton 4

Musée d'Orsay, Département de la documentation, automne 2011

Ayant abandonné mon poste de travail, surprise dans l'écriture de ce billet par ma boss, "maisLaure questcequevousfaîtes"

The news came like a blow. On February 2nd, around 9am Cape Town, addictively typing on Facebook, I discovered BdF's post (yes we are calling ourselves Big Sis and Lil' Bro, though this nickname'd be more appropriate for someone else now, the one I proudly made discover the Stripes 5 years ago). 

The White Stripes split up. 

Jack told me that he finally understood how people felt when The Beatles ended up their career. True, I thought. Somewhow, I found that I'd now always feel a pang when I would hear Lil' Jack calling me "Meggy Sue". Every single moment, each concert I went to, every time I sang "You're Pretty Good Looking for a Girl", scattered pieces of memory came back to me, as if they did not make sense anymore. My first thought was to tell myself I could not see them again on stage. Then, I tried to wonder if I would feel the same if the Dead Weather or The Raconteurs did the same. The answer came quite naturally: no, that is a big no. Why? Probably because those were not as mythical as the Stripes, or because they did not have this particular vibe. Also, because I mostly admire these bands for Benson and VV's performances. 

The Stripes was probably one of the first contemporary bands I fell in love with, if not THE first. I became interested in their music at the age of 15. I did not particularly enjoy "Seven Nation Army" (which is quite boring actually, especially when these damned sportsmen started to sing the riff in stadiums - people were hung for less than that in the past), but one day, the very-dear-to-me Kafka brought Elephant to my place. He left it there for a couple of days and pretended he had forgotten to take it back, but now I like to think he did it on purpose. I could not stop playing "It's True We Love One Another", imitated the guitar  riff on "Ball and Biscuit", had chills listening to Meg's voice on "In the Cold, Cold Night". I was obsessed, I was crazy about them. Later on, I would pay more attention to soft ballads like "You've Got Her in Your Pocket" or "I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother's Heart", on which Jack's voice is almost feminine. 

 

Then came De Stijl to my discography, that I had bought for peanuts, and still remains one of my favourite albums from them, along with Get Behind Me Satan, despite the hyperbolic reviews of critics for Elephant and White Blood Cells. I like the mix of violence and sweetness in this album. I cannot even count the number of times I listened to "Apple Blossom", "Truth Doesn't Make a Noise", "Your Southern Can is Mine" (that, unfortunately, I've never seen performed on stage), and tried to reproduce Meg's drumsticks rhythm on "Hello Operator" with pens on my desk. 

In October 2005, The Stripes came to tour France, just after Get Behind Me Satan's release. I still did not know them very well but, whatever, I saved all the money I had to buy tickets for Pierrot and I. We were young, we wanted to experience live music. I remember how excited I was while waiting their entrance, very close to the Zenith stage, Paris. The setting matched their colours: black, red and white, with the big apple on Meg's drum. Apparently, those are the Stripes' favourite colours because they are the first ones seen by babies as they experience vision. Another element I love about this band: their visual signature. 

I think they showed up at something like 9.20 pm. And what a show! Jack was all clad in black: top hat, large cloak, long cane, like a vampire coming out of the grave, giving you his most deadly screams to shake up the living. Meg had preferred to wear her traditional white top and red trousers, while she was playing barefeet. 

The shout I made on hearing "Ball and Biscuit"'s first notes! The Stripes is one of these rare bands that electrifies you as they play on stage. They are extremely professional, not very talkative, but you'll be sure not to waste your money since they actually DO NOT STOP playing. Most of their songs sound pretty different. It took me a while to enjoy "Apple Blossom" on the organ. But once I did, I could not stop loving it. This is why, every time I watch the famous Blackpool concert, I cannot help clapping my hands and drumming with my left foot, wishing I would be among the audience. 

The Stripes came back to Paris for a concert in 2007. But somehow, the magic had vanished. Maybe because A. did not want to go, like me, as close as possible to the stage, or maybe you could feel that something was going on. Jack had started other bands, he had various projets. Still, I enjoyed the gig. Once more, it was long, passionate and intense. 

As years passed, I was proud to make some of my best friends' discover one of my favourite bands and to share my passion. I flatter myself to have my brother introduced to rocknroll music through The Stripes, even though he came to prefer The Raconteurs (traitor!). A girl I hung out in highschool with, who rather listened to techno and electro, was thrilled to hear "Ball and Biscuit" for the first time. And in Cape Town, just as I learned about them splitting up, I felt immensely glad when R. that I had introduced to The Stripes, said he associated the band with me. This is possibly one of the most touching compliments I've ever had. 

With this intricacy of memories, friendships and moments, The Stripes became my best friends. They watched me growing up, from my 15 onwards, and shaped part of my musical tastes, because they embodied everything I liked about rock music: passion, violence, beats, LIFE, in a way. They helped me define which contemporary bands I would elect among my top favourites. 

It is hard for me to say which Stripes song I enjoy the most, because what I appreciate about them is their technical diversity. Most people would make the obvious link between Jack and "Seven Nation Army". I'm always a little annoyed when they do so, since it doesn't reflect The Stripes' variety at all. Jack can alternatively play garage rock ("Fell in Love with a Girl"), country ("Your Southern Can is Mine"), blues ("St James Infirmary"), traditional folk music ("St Andrews") or make you cry ("Jolene"). 

Also, most people would tell you Meg's a bad drummer. Know that Jack White never relies on chance. Meg provides this sweet, childish touch that is essential to the band, her naive playing reminding one of how kids start to play an instrument. The most intriguing dimension is that this formula actually works. In the Get Behind Me Satan album, the sounds are pure, almost free from ruggedness... Many criticised that Jack had abandoned his Telecaster to touch the soft keys of the piano. To my mind, this is what makes the album's wealth.

Having a band like The White Stripes on the international music stage, when it was and still is hard to discover anything but truly original, was certainly quite an experience. And, if Jack now is preparing his solo album release, I would like to thank him for everything he gave us through The Stripes' music, thus quoting his own words: 

"The White Stripes do not belong to Jack and Meg anymore. They belong to you now (...) The beauty of art and music is that it can last forever if people want it to"

"La Morte amoureuse, Avatar et autres récits fantastiques" de Théophile Gautier

"Ma vie, c'est naze, je l'échangerais bien contre celle du roi du Maroc"

Si la peinture pouvait parler ou illustrer ce recueil, ce serait certainement celle de Watteau et des "Fêtes Galandes". 
La nuit tombe. Les cafetières s'animent. Le modèle d'une tapisserie sort de son cadre, le fantôme d'une courtisane aperçue, ne serait-ce qu'une fois, devient réalité (Omphale). 

Antoine Watteau, L'Embarquement pour Cythère, 1717
Huile sur toile, Musée du Louvre
Beaucoup d'encre a coulé sur le départ de l'île, ou le débarquement vers Cythère (ou pas)
Perso, je m'en tamponne un peu, ce qui me botte là-dedans, c'est l'atmosphère onirique

Le fantasme de célébrités historiques se matérialise sous nos yeux (Le Pied de momie). Toute cette galerie de personnages fantasques danse au son d'une valse effrénée éminemment rococo (celle de la mort ?), dont la mélancolie pointe telle les premières lueurs du jour. Bien vite, le rêve d'entrer dans la peau du rival pour conquérir l'être aimé s'éteint (Avatar). Ou tourne au cauchemar. 

Cet être, c'est bien la Femme. Elle est tour à tour charmante, mutine, terrible ou même menaçante, menant le héros à sa perte. A l'instar des poèmes et des récits de Nerval, la figure féminine acquiert une forte charge érotique, une omniprésence impérissable qui laisse sur l'homme une empreinte physique, mentale et mémorielle. Elle se mue en une véritable obsession de la part du narrateur.

En cela, Gautier annonce déjà cette fin-de-siècle qui accuse le sexe faible de tous les maux. La Femme Fatale cristallise les angoisses de ces bourgeois engoncés dans leurs confortables carcans. Ce n'est pas un hasard si ses représentations florissent en peinture à un moment où les premiers mouvement féministes voient le jour. Rops, Redon, Moreau, les préraphaélites, Khnopff, tous y passent. 

Franz von Stuck, Le Péché allongé, 1899
Je mets au défi quiconque de ne pas trouver cette scène phallique
Freud approves

Le fantatisque ou cette frontière ténue entre le réel, le rêve et le surnaturel permet dans ses images une alliance d'un... assez mauvais goût finalement entre l'amour (ou plutôt l'érotisme) et la mort. Quand Eros et Thanatos s'acoquinent, on n'est pas très loin d'une cristallisation de pulsions quasi-nécrophiles. Mais c'est pour notre plus grand plaisir, et cela explique en partie la délectation bizarre que nous avons pour l'étrange, ce qui dérange, et même aujourd'hui, nos films d'horreurs mettant en scène des flots d'hémoglobine. Malsains les humains ? Si peu. 

Toujours est-il que ce pauvre Gautier a été un peu trop comparé à Hoffman, qui lui a semblé trouver ses lettres de noblesse auprès de la psychanalyse et des surréalistes. Le résultat, c'est que pendant des années, on a pensé que la France, c'était ce pays cartésien assez... ennuyeux somme toutes qui n'était capable de produire que de la littérature réaliste ou d'un romantisme un peu niais. En vérité, les chefs 
d'oeuvres fantastiques français existent, les récits de Gautier en sont la preuve flagrante. J'irais même jusqu'à affirmer qu'ils sont meilleurs que ceux de son compère allemand, car plus aboutis. Parce que, soyons honnêtes, si on se souvient des Contes nocturnes d'Hoffman, c'est surtout en nous ayant rebattu les oreilles de l'"étrange étrangeté" (blablabla), comme l'a si bien théorisé Tonton Freud, en cours de philo ou de lettres. 

Marquées par une anglomanie non dissimulée, les nouvelles de Gautier rappellent Poe ou les romans gothiques anglais. Tout y est : thème du double, hallucinations, vampires... Même le diable fait une courte - mais frappante ! - apparition (Deux acteurs pour un rôle). L'autre influence étrangère, outre l'Antiquité, c'est l'Italie, qui comme chez Nerval, incite à l'invitation au voyage. 

                                    

Le fantastique de Gautier est différent de celui de Maupassant ou Zola, qui se situe dans le domaine de l'incertain : j'ai eu si peur, cela s'est-il vraiment passé ? Ai-je rêve ? Mon esprit ne me joue-t-il pas des tours ? Chez Gautier, aucun doute possible : l'horreur, aussi indiscible soit-elle, est bien là. Son seul défaut, c'est de retarder l'action au moyen de descriptions travaillées comme de l'orfèvrerie, avec une sensibilité de précurseur. Gautier serait-il symboliste avant l'heure ? A travers son utilisation du langage, il devance les Huysmans, les Maeterlinck et autres dandys des derniers soubresauts du 19ème siècle. 

Gustave Moreau, L'Apparition, 1875
Aquarelle, Musée du Louvre (détail)

A l'école, on étudie volontiers La Cafetière et Le Pied de momie, mais Gautier passe souvent inaperçu, associé pour toujours à son roman historique Le Capitaine Fracasse ou le très (trop ?) descriptif Roman de la momie. Faîtes-moi plaisir, réconciliez-vous avec l'ami Théo pour éprouver ces frissons de plaisir que provoquent la lecture d'épouvante. 

George Romney, portraitiste anglais (1734 – 1802)

George Romney, Autoportrait, 

Huile sur toile, 58,4 x 48,2 cm

Collection particulière

Né à Dalton-in-Furness dans le Lancashire (aujourd’hui comté de Cumbrie), George Romney est le fils d’un ébéniste. Après des études avortées à Dendron, il rentre comme apprenti dans l’atelier de son père à l’âge de 11 ans. Très tôt, il fait preuve de talent pour le dessin et la sculpture sur bois. Il réalise à cette époque de nombreux violons, l’instrument qu’il pratiqua toute sa vie. John Williamson, un horloger de son village natal, lui enseigna les rudiments de la peinture durant son adolescence.

Ce n’est qu’en 1755, lorsqu’il part pour la ville de Kendal, qu’il commence à peindre officiellement en tant qu’apprenti, sous l’égide du portraitiste itinérant Christopher Steele (1733 – 1768), qui avait eu pour maître le français Carl Van Loo (1705 –1765). Le père de George finance lui-même l’apprentissage. Le style soigné, élégant de Steele se retrouve dans les œuvres de jeunesse de son élève.

Un an après son mariage en 1756, Romney demande à Steele de mettre fin à son apprentissage pour s’établir à son compte, ce à quoi le maître obtempère. Romney ouvre alors son propre atelier à Kendal. Il se lie d'amitié avec l'écrivain et scientifique Adam Walker (1731 - 1901). L’artiste exécute un pèlerinage artistique dans le nord de l’Angleterre et reçoit ses premières commandes. Il se bâtit une réputation de peintre mondain en réalisant les portraits de grandes familles bourgeoises du Lake District. Il s’essaye également à la peinture d’histoire et au paysage. Cinq ans plus tard, Romney quitte femme et enfants pour s’installer à Londres. Il ne revint à Kendal qu’en 1799. Depuis Londres, Romney subvient aux besoins de sa famille.

Adam Walker et sa famille, 1796 – 1801

Huile sur toile, 135,2 x 167,5 cm

National Portrait Gallery

En 1763, Romney remporte un prix décerné par la Royal Society of Arts pour sa représentation de La mort du général Wolfe. Selon la rumeur, Sir Joshua Reynolds fit réduire le montant de la récompense, probablement agacé par l’opportunisme de cet artiste d’origine modeste, perçu comme un rival potentiel. Malgré son succès, Romney n’exposa jamais à la Royal Academy, dont Reynolds fut le président. Il évita aussi la compagnie des académiciens et artistes, préférant celle des hommes de lettres. Ce n’est que vers la fin de sa vie que Romney regretta de ne pas être rentré dans cette prestigieuse institution, qui accordait aux artistes la protection de la noblesse.

Après des débuts difficiles dans la capitale britannique, Romney embarque pour Paris en 1764, où il rencontre le paysagiste Joseph Vernet (1714 - 1789). Pendant son séjour, il étudie d’après les œuvres de Nicolas Lesueur (1691 - 1764). A l’époque, les peintres anglais avaient peu d'occasions d’observer le travail des maîtres étrangers, et le Grand Tour était considéré comme une étape décisive dans la carrière d'un artiste.

En 1768, Romney fait la connaissance du dramaturge Richard Cumberland (1732 – 1811), dont il réalise le portrait. Cumberland devient ainsi son mécène attitré. Même si ses ambitions le conduisaient à devenir un peintre d’histoire, Romney devint un portraitiste de renom, et obtint un certain succès auprès des femmes de la haute bourgeoisie. C'est à cette époque qu'il peint La famille Leigh et La famille Warren.

La famille Warren, 1769
Huile sur toile, 241,4 x 183, 6 cm
Collection particulière

Au début des années 1770, Romney est suffisamment riche pour entamer son deuxième Grand Tour, en passant par Paris, Lyon, Marseille et Nice. A Rome, il obtient une dérogation du Pape pour exécuter des esquisses d’après les fresques de Raphaël au Vatican. Il étudie également les tableaux du Corrège à Parme, et ceux du Titien à Venise. L’influence des maîtres se perçoit dans la grâce à l’antique qui caractérise Mrs Cawardine et son fils (1775) et Sir Christopher et Lady Sykes (1786).

A son retour en Angleterre, Romney s'installe à Cavendish Square et connaît d'autres soucis d'ordre financier. Pourtant, son style a atteint sa maturité, et il reçut plusieurs commandes des membres de l'aristocratie anglaise, notamment du Duc de Richmond.

C'est en 1782 que Romney rencontre l'actrice Emma Hamilton (née Hart), qui devint sa muse officielle. Frappé par la beauté de la jeune femme, l'artiste exécuta plus de 60 portraits, parfois en costume de scène, dans des poses diverses et variées. Emma Hamilton incarnait des héroïnes shakespeariennes, ou de tragédies antiques. Les tableaux de l'actrice qui fut plus tard la maîtresse de Lord Nelson comptent parmi les compositions les plus abouties du peintre. 

Lady Hamilton en Circe, v.1782 
Huile sur toile, 53,3 x 49, 5 cm
Tate Britain

Emma au chapeau de paille, 1782-1784   
Huile sur toile, 76,2 x 63,5 cm
The Huntington Library, San Marino

                  

                                                                          

Romney soutient l'initiative de la création de la Shakespeare's Gallery par l'éditeur et graveur John Boydell (1720 – 1804). Il prend part au dîner d'inauguration en 1886. Il achève alors la composition de l'Acte I de La Tempête.

La Tempête, acte I scène I
Gravure de Benjamin Smith, v.1790

Connaissant des problèmes de santé qui entravent sa production artistique, Romney quitte son studio en 1797 pour se retirer à Hampstead et se construire une maison, aujourd'hui classée au patrimoine historique anglais. Ses difficultés financières l'obligent à vendre sa maison deux ans plus tard pour retourner à Kendal auprès de sa famille.   

Romney fut un artiste majeur de la société géorgienne, dont la production abondante comporte plus de 2000 tableaux et 5000 dessins. Maîtresses de la ligne, ses compositions se distinguent par les poses élégantes de ses modèles, inspirées par la sculpture de la Rome antique. Il aurait influencé le sculpteur John Flaxman et William Blake. Tombée dans l'oubli à l'ère victorienne, sa production connut un regain d'intérêt au 20^ème siècle.

Sources Internet: BBC Your Paintings, Britannica, The Romney Society, Walker Art Gallery