TF#8
Thursday, July 29th, 2010
Tim Flemming
Founder
Flatland OK
Age 38
Ultimate style icon; Clint Eastwood in his earlier films, perfect balance being between being dressed up while dusty (like a carpenter).
Posts Tagged ‘Interesting people never go out of fashion’
FJ#7
Thursday, July 29th, 2010
Fredrik Jönsson
Fashion Designer
Age: 33
“Keep it simple stupid”
ET#6
Thursday, July 29th, 2010
Emma Telfer
Marketing Manager
State of Design
Age 30
Ultimate on-line shopper always looking for that $2 000 item discounted. Hello Rick Owen.
CQ#5
Thursday, July 29th, 2010
Chloe Quigley
Director, Ortolan
& Michi Girl
Age: 38. Eeew.
If I love a garment I wear it until it falls apart. Some of my clothes are
20 years old. I have started wearing heels this year and I love it. I wish I
had discovered them years ago. My favourite label is Marni.
SOD#RMIT
Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010
BW#1
Monday, March 1st, 2010
Bianca Wiegard
Retail Mentor
Age 40
I go swimming to clear my head and make room for fresh creative ideas and we started Fat for $6,000. Favorite label is Romance Was Born.
CW#2
Monday, March 1st, 2010
Cornel Wilczek
Composer/Music Producer
Age 35
Favourite fashion designer: I go through phases. At the moment, it’s probably Marc Jacobs. This decision is usually based on colour. I like his use of colour in menswear. It’s really quite fun. I think “fun” is also a key concept for me.
DP#3
Monday, March 1st, 2010
Daniel Pollock
Creative Director / Co-Founder Michi Girl
Age: 36
I once sold clip-on koalas at Princess Mary’s wedding in Denmark and my favourite labels are Whyred / J. Lindeberg / Bassike
EM#4
Monday, March 1st, 2010
Eve Morey
Actress
Age 26
I love the movie Annie Hall with Dianne Keaton – the film encompasses everything I love about fashion but with a modern twist. I love clothes that are masculine and not conventionally feminine but when worn, creates it’s own sense of sexiness and femininity.
Theater is my “loyal wife” and the cinema is my “expensive mistress”
Wednesday, December 9th, 2009
Bergman’s career as a cinematic artist is unique in its sheer volume. But what is really unique about Bergman and has certainly helped make him world-famous is his ability to use the mass medium of film — by nature as much an industry as an art — as a deeply personal form of expression, equally suited to depicting existential or psychological problems as well as a tangible world of events.
Ingmar Bergman was born in Uppsala on July 14, 1918. Even as a child, Bergman was immersed in the two fields to which he would devote his entire professional life. Around the age of ten, he owned a “laterna magica” or cinematograph. To quote Bergman’s own description, this was a “clattering tin box with a chimney, a kerosene lamp and endless films that went round and round in a strip” — a “magic machine” whose flickering light was projected against his mother’s hung-up sheets. He found it strangely “secretive and provocative.” It is not a coincidence that Bergman named his memoirs Laterna Magica (1987) after this childhood toy. Childhood was also important in a more specific sense. This is especially true of Bergman’s conflictladen relationship with his parents, which — as he has indicated numerous times over the years — has manifested itself in a number of recurring cinematic themes and motifs. Like a child in a strictly controlled family structure, the artist finds himself relegated to the lowest rung in a society’s hierarchical power structure.
The diversity with which Bergman has been able to portray the area he carved out early in his career. From one film to another, from one decade to another, his thematic and stylistic components have undergone constant transformations, bursts of energy and shifts of meaning. In fact, this has occurred to such a degree that Bergman’s works are difficult to organize into any linear growth curve in the traditional sense. Instead, his artistic development is shaped like a kind of spiral that repeats similar movements in cyclical phases, yet each time at a different level.
Faith and doubt
Although his early films lack independence, they show the contours of what in time would comprise archetypically Bergmanian features. One is the religious and broader existential problem complex that has perhaps contributed more to Bergman’s fame than anything else; especially in an international perspective, his fame undoubtedly rests on the fact that he brought to the cinema issues traditionally belonging to the domains of philosophy and religion and which, not long ago, few people thought this art form was capable of. There are reasons why The Seventh Seal is said to be screened an average of twice a day, all year round, somewhere in North America…
The Seventh Seal (1957) naturally occupies a special position among his religiously colored films. With its allegorically simple form and classic high-contrast cinematography, it shows how the Medieval knight Antonius Block (played by Max von Sydow) confronts Death, thereby personifying the existential struggle and religious doubts of modern man. But naturally Bergman’s “trilogy” on the silence of God – Through a Glass Darkly (1961), Winter Light (1963, UK title The Communicants) and The Silence (1963) – represents the culmination of his religious themes. This was when Bergman, in his own words, “cast off” his faith in God, “holy rubbish that blocks one’s view.” These three mutually rather contrasting films describe a religious problem in three stages, or by “reduction,” as Bergman puts it in his foreword to the published screenplay: a movement from “certainty achieved” to “certainty unmasked” and finally God’s silence, “the negative impression.” The title of the final film in the trilogy, The Silence, is thus significant: it portrays people left to each other amidst the emptiness and silence that has descended over a godless world.
Men and women
Another set of cinematic motifs where Bergman is considered an innovator is in his portrayal of marriage and family life. Perhaps especially from an international perspective, his approach was perceived by contemporaries as unusually straightforward and unromantically realistic. A unique and different approach is seen in Bergman’s series of women-oriented films, some of them comedies, which appeared during the first half of the 1950s: Secrets of Women (1952, UK title Waiting Women), A Lesson in Love (1954), Smiles of a Summer Night (1955) and to some extent Dreams (1955, UK title Journey into Autumn).
The high point in this series of films was Smiles of a Summer Night, inspired by Bergman’s own theatrical production of “The Merry Widow” and widely regarded as a masterpiece of “well-crafted cinematic drama.” (Sure enough, this was the film that won Bergman his first major international award at the Cannes Film Festival.) Here, too, women control the battle of the sexes, while men often end up with the short end of the stick. Thus, early in the film, the foolish military macho man played by Jarl Kulle declares in a pompous upper-class accent that he will gladly “tolerate my wife’s infidelity, but if anyone touches my mistress, I become a tiger!” Toward the end of the film, the intellectual and strategic mathematics which are characteristic of farce make him say the same thing — but the other way around: “I can tolerate someone dallying with my mistress, but if anyone touches my wife, I become a tiger.”
Artists and jesters
A final, significant set of Bergman motifs revolve around art and the artist. If not otherwise, this is clear from the fact that so many of his films take place in artistic milieus: the film studio in The Devil’s Wanton, the Royal Opera Ballet in Illicit Interlude, the circus in The Naked Night (UK title Sawdust and Tinsel), the medieval farce in The Seventh Seal, the “magnetic health theater” in The Magician and of course the “real” theater in such mutually contrasting films as Persona, The Ritual (UK title The Rite) and Fanny and Alexander.
The theme of the artist would reach its culmination in Persona and Bergman’s three subsequent films: Hour of the Wolf (1968), Shame (1968, UK title The Shame) and The Passion of Anna (1969). These have sometimes been called Bergman’s “second trilogy,” because in one way or another, all of them portray the artist’s increasingly insignificant role in modern society. If not otherwise, this is reflected in the progressive marginalization of the artist figure in each film.
Late in his career, through his memoirs, stage plays and screenplays in novel form, Ingmar Bergman returned to pure writing. And thereby to the original source of his artistic activity: after all, he began his career as a playwright and prose author. On that note, let us end with Ingmar Bergman’s own words,
“Everything can happen; everything is possible and likely. Time and space do not exist; on an insignificant basis of reality the imagination spins and weaves new patterns.”
Ingmar Bergman will never go out of fashion
Bergman’s career as a cinematic artist is unique in its sheer volume. But what is really unique about Bergman and has certainly helped make him world-famous is his ability to use the mass medium of film — by nature as much an industry as an art — as a deeply personal form of expression, equally suited to depicting existential or psychological problems as well as a tangible world of events.
Ingmar Bergman was born in Uppsala on July 14, 1918. Even as a child, Bergman was immersed in the two fields to which he would devote his entire professional life. Around the age of ten, he owned a “laterna magica” or cinematograph. To quote Bergman’s own description, this was a “clattering tin box with a chimney, a kerosene lamp and endless films that went round and round in a strip” — a “magic machine” whose flickering light was projected against his mother’s hung-up sheets. He found it strangely “secretive and provocative.” It is not a coincidence that Bergman named his memoirs Laterna Magica (1987) after this childhood toy. Childhood was also important in a more specific sense. This is especially true of Bergman’s conflictladen relationship with his parents, which — as he has indicated numerous times over the years — has manifested itself in a number of recurring cinematic themes and motifs. Like a child in a strictly controlled family structure, the artist finds himself relegated to the lowest rung in a society’s hierarchical power structure.
The diversity with which Bergman has been able to portray the area he carved out early in his career. From one film to another, from one decade to another, his thematic and stylistic components have undergone constant transformations, bursts of energy and shifts of meaning. In fact, this has occurred to such a degree that Bergman’s works are difficult to organize into any linear growth curve in the traditional sense. Instead, his artistic development is shaped like a kind of spiral that repeats similar movements in cyclical phases, yet each time at a different level.
Faith and doubt
Although his early films lack independence, they show the contours of what in time would comprise archetypically Bergmanian features. One is the religious and broader existential problem complex that has perhaps contributed more to Bergman’s fame than anything else; especially in an international perspective, his fame undoubtedly rests on the fact that he brought to the cinema issues traditionally belonging to the domains of philosophy and religion and which, not long ago, few people thought this art form was capable of. There are reasons why The Seventh Seal is said to be screened an average of twice a day, all year round, somewhere in North America…
The Seventh Seal (1957) naturally occupies a special position among his religiously colored films. With its allegorically simple form and classic high-contrast cinematography, it shows how the Medieval knight Antonius Block (played by Max von Sydow) confronts Death, thereby personifying the existential struggle and religious doubts of modern man. But naturally Bergman’s “trilogy” on the silence of God – Through a Glass Darkly (1961), Winter Light (1963, UK title The Communicants) and The Silence (1963) – represents the culmination of his religious themes. This was when Bergman, in his own words, “cast off” his faith in God, “holy rubbish that blocks one’s view.” These three mutually rather contrasting films describe a religious problem in three stages, or by “reduction,” as Bergman puts it in his foreword to the published screenplay: a movement from “certainty achieved” to “certainty unmasked” and finally God’s silence, “the negative impression.” The title of the final film in the trilogy, The Silence, is thus significant: it portrays people left to each other amidst the emptiness and silence that has descended over a godless world.
Men and women
Another set of cinematic motifs where Bergman is considered an innovator is in his portrayal of marriage and family life. Perhaps especially from an international perspective, his approach was perceived by contemporaries as unusually straightforward and unromantically realistic. A unique and different approach is seen in Bergman’s series of women-oriented films, some of them comedies, which appeared during the first half of the 1950s: Secrets of Women (1952, UK title Waiting Women), A Lesson in Love (1954), Smiles of a Summer Night (1955) and to some extent Dreams (1955, UK title Journey into Autumn).
The high point in this series of films was Smiles of a Summer Night, inspired by Bergman’s own theatrical production of “The Merry Widow” and widely regarded as a masterpiece of “well-crafted cinematic drama.” (Sure enough, this was the film that won Bergman his first major international award at the Cannes Film Festival.) Here, too, women control the battle of the sexes, while men often end up with the short end of the stick. Thus, early in the film, the foolish military macho man played by Jarl Kulle declares in a pompous upper-class accent that he will gladly “tolerate my wife’s infidelity, but if anyone touches my mistress, I become a tiger!” Toward the end of the film, the intellectual and strategic mathematics which are characteristic of farce make him say the same thing — but the other way around: “I can tolerate someone dallying with my mistress, but if anyone touches my wife, I become a tiger.”
Artists and jesters
A final, significant set of Bergman motifs revolve around art and the artist. If not otherwise, this is clear from the fact that so many of his films take place in artistic milieus: the film studio in The Devil’s Wanton, the Royal Opera Ballet in Illicit Interlude, the circus in The Naked Night (UK title Sawdust and Tinsel), the medieval farce in The Seventh Seal, the “magnetic health theater” in The Magician and of course the “real” theater in such mutually contrasting films as Persona, The Ritual (UK title The Rite) and Fanny and Alexander.
The theme of the artist would reach its culmination in Persona and Bergman’s three subsequent films: Hour of the Wolf (1968), Shame (1968, UK title The Shame) and The Passion of Anna (1969). These have sometimes been called Bergman’s “second trilogy,” because in one way or another, all of them portray the artist’s increasingly insignificant role in modern society. If not otherwise, this is reflected in the progressive marginalization of the artist figure in each film.
Late in his career, through his memoirs, stage plays and screenplays in novel form, Ingmar Bergman returned to pure writing. And thereby to the original source of his artistic activity: after all, he began his career as a playwright and prose author. On that note, let us end with Ingmar Bergman’s own words,
“Everything can happen; everything is possible and likely. Time and space do not exist; on an insignificant basis of reality the imagination spins and weaves new patterns.”
Ingmar Bergman will never go out of fashion.
Text from sweden.se