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Re: Carol Christian Poell
I found this description of Mainstream-Downstream really beautiful, especially the evocation of emotion from the blase crowd she describes at the end.
From The New Yorker
The invitation to Poell?s show was a salmon-colored factory time
card stamped with an hour?seven in the evening?and an address that
puzzled my driver: ?Alzaia Naviglio Grande Under Bridge Viale Cassala.?
The Naviglio Grande is the largest of the natural canals that flow
through and beneath the industrial neighborhood where Poell has his
studio, and which is the oldest part of the city. By the time we found
the spot, the sun looked like a melon. A youthful crowd had assembled
along the iron railing that protects the steep embankment. There was no
evidence of a runway. There were no assistants in black, no security
personnel talking into headsets, no publicist with a seating
chart?indeed, no seating. The water, which was pale green and
surprisingly clear, though flecked with wisps of straw, reflected a
skyful of Tintoretto clouds. ?Dov?è la sfilata?? people were asking?where?s the show?
Then, to universal amazement, we beheld?drifting lazily down the
canal?two red boots, a white shirt, a pair of dark trousers. They were
followed by a boy dressed in a thick vest of what looked like
russet-colored steel wool. He lay supine and motionless, his limbs
outstretched, his perfectly calm face framed by the swirling mass of
his hair. There were sixteen of his fellow-volunteers to come. Though
the clothes were soggy and a little blurred, one read them?as the
current turned the page?like the hand-colored images in some mildewed
yet marvellous old book. Poell?s idea was so poetic that the magical
buoyancy of bodies and clothes (kept from sinking by an invisible
flotation device) leapt the banks and infected the audience with a fit
of joy. It didn?t matter, I thought, what the collection looked like on
a hanger or in a shop, because the show had performed a feat that is
rare enough in theatre or art and practically unheard of in fashion. It
surprised a group of people with an emotion they hadn?t been expecting
to feel. That is how a child experiences a sensual revelation, and how
it is transformed into a memory of being happy. ?Everybody follows
fashion,? Poell told me later. ?But change goes against the stream.?
I found this description of Mainstream-Downstream really beautiful, especially the evocation of emotion from the blase crowd she describes at the end.
From The New Yorker
The invitation to Poell?s show was a salmon-colored factory time
card stamped with an hour?seven in the evening?and an address that
puzzled my driver: ?Alzaia Naviglio Grande Under Bridge Viale Cassala.?
The Naviglio Grande is the largest of the natural canals that flow
through and beneath the industrial neighborhood where Poell has his
studio, and which is the oldest part of the city. By the time we found
the spot, the sun looked like a melon. A youthful crowd had assembled
along the iron railing that protects the steep embankment. There was no
evidence of a runway. There were no assistants in black, no security
personnel talking into headsets, no publicist with a seating
chart?indeed, no seating. The water, which was pale green and
surprisingly clear, though flecked with wisps of straw, reflected a
skyful of Tintoretto clouds. ?Dov?è la sfilata?? people were asking?where?s the show?
Then, to universal amazement, we beheld?drifting lazily down the
canal?two red boots, a white shirt, a pair of dark trousers. They were
followed by a boy dressed in a thick vest of what looked like
russet-colored steel wool. He lay supine and motionless, his limbs
outstretched, his perfectly calm face framed by the swirling mass of
his hair. There were sixteen of his fellow-volunteers to come. Though
the clothes were soggy and a little blurred, one read them?as the
current turned the page?like the hand-colored images in some mildewed
yet marvellous old book. Poell?s idea was so poetic that the magical
buoyancy of bodies and clothes (kept from sinking by an invisible
flotation device) leapt the banks and infected the audience with a fit
of joy. It didn?t matter, I thought, what the collection looked like on
a hanger or in a shop, because the show had performed a feat that is
rare enough in theatre or art and practically unheard of in fashion. It
surprised a group of people with an emotion they hadn?t been expecting
to feel. That is how a child experiences a sensual revelation, and how
it is transformed into a memory of being happy. ?Everybody follows
fashion,? Poell told me later. ?But change goes against the stream.?
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