Le Monde des Montagnes (The World of Mountains), an ECAL graduate project by Camille Scherrer

Nothing to stop us from getting lost. From deciding we no longer belong here, and using all our knowledge and craft to make this place just confusing enough to dream.
Be it an augmented reality, be it a book, a picture that can actually be moving. Be it our imposing of what’s in our head, or rather, what dropped by for just a second, only to fool us into believing we own it, we are it.
Nothing to stop us from finding our way. With every single hesitating step we so confidently make into this our augmented reality, with more of you than I could ever have hoped for, with less of me than you would expect, with just enough of us to get the picture.
And move on. As if nothing really happened. As if.

(via)

I have no idea concerning the origins of the above.

The duporet bujany (translating as something like “ass-rocker”) was found at poor design. Poor is the author of several clever designs, the most known being the “peg” pendrive. The design is funny, unfortunately as the owner of one such peg I am less enthusiastic about its practicality.
I prefer when he creates poor objects in all honesty – like this “uncovering lamp“.

Plexiglas object which gives no light but at least it does not shut off light either. Additionally, it can serve as a stand for a classical lamp with a clamp changing it in a traditional bedside lamp.

Or take this spike:
Perfect for hangovers.

• the paintings are by Jeff Soto.
• the chair for partying till you drop is by Sebastian Brajkovic.
• and the look-what-I-found-upon-returning-to-the-hotel-room photo was taken by the great Cormac Hanley (an interview with him is here, although I must add that his admiration for Michael Mann goes strongly against my conclusions after seeing his last film)

From Chicago’s pride, the Millenium Park, comes a cruel, yet fascinating, story of public art gone wrong.
BOTH of the public sculptures it opened recently, one by the Van Berkel atelier, and the other by Zaha Hadid, got damaged by the all-too-loving public.
Looks quite nice from above, doesn’t it? If you go to ground level, it’s even more inspiring. Here’s a look at Hadid’s work:

The entire structure, made of aluminum, is covered with cloth. Now let’s take a look inside this spaceship.

Get the picture?
One of the key statements of the manifesto of a group of artists presenting the exhibition Unusually Rare Events is that the artist does not need to think about the spectator when creating the work. Agreed. However, when creating a public work of art (mind you, to some extent any work of art is public), he might want to consider that his work will possibly not only be appreciated like this:

but also like this:

And those, of course, are the “nice” visitors.
The question arises: should we stay with “public-proof” solutions? Hire teams of guards to keep the aura going? Or maybe consider every mark and hole as part of the (pardon the pun) holistic concept of the work of art?

Now I wonder how these marvellously designed shoes by Zaha Hadid feel:
Not to mention the London Aquatics Centre, to be one of the main venues of the 2012 Summer Olympics.
(via)

The problem with abstraction is that a subjective voyage into the unknown is precisely this: subjective. And the exceptional quality of my experience as the creator is something distinct from the experience of the spectator. Thus, whenever the artist moves into abstraction, whenever we receive less (of the visible image of the visible), we find ourselves in a position of risk – the risk of losing track, of losing sight of anything that rings a bell.
It is a risk we have learned to enjoy. It is a risk justified by the way our historically-bound senses receive the world, and well-defended by an astonishing number of passionate theories.
Still, I look with envy at the art lovers who find abstraction as natural as air.
Most of the time, I find it easier to discover new worlds in a stone than in an abstract sculpture.
Yet there are artists who manage to create paths that lead from the world of re-cognition, of everyday objects and images and tastes, of the mimetic pleasures of re-production, to the very limits of abstract forms.
One such artist is Myra Mimlitsch-Gray.

Take a simple object:

The effect of melting does not seem to challenge the object as such. It asks for fruit as loudly as any classic salver does. Nonetheless, it moves us towards a world where the concrete is, well, not so concrete after all:
Here we have a candelabrum, which is hardly a candelabrum any more. It has melted like a candle, apparently contradicting its main function: to withstand melting. Welcome back to the magnificent world of semiotic undoing, and sensual games with the intellect.
Too entropic for you? Why don’t you try something more positive, then? Sugar and cream, anyone?

The sugar bowl is the negative of its own shape, as is the creamer… or is it that none of them actually has the shape? What are they, after all, these shapes that are to be useful, that are to serve, as if their being objects were not good enough? What is left of the representation, of the concrete, once we put it to challenge in its very heart?

Let’s move back to the first picture now. The title of the work is Trunk Sections, and it is made in cast iron. A tree made of iron. Or is it a mold of a tree? (What a strange idea: a mold of a tree!) Or just a part of their trunk? And why do they seem so… wooden? What, then is the matter with them? They are like ghosts, representing something we presume might have been here, but made of another stuff, another material, another essence, defying the way we see the objectness of the object.
We can, of course, go back to seeing them as just a few pieces of iron cast and assembled to create an abstract sculpture, like so many others.
The question is: with this delicious introduction, why would we refuse the voyage?

Myra Mimlitsch-Gray has an exhibition on until June 27 at the Wexler Gallery in Philadelphia, and you can read an insightful text about her work by by David Revere McFadden here.

The text, printed on six Air Luxor Boeing 737 planes, was part of a series (On the Wing) made in 1999 by Nedko Solakov.

(as usual, I had trouble classifying it. ideas for better tags are welcome)

Lace Fence is a product developed by the Dutch designer house Demakersvan. (And when one is not using it as a political statement, it is adorable)