{"id":35399,"date":"2012-07-13T12:46:36","date_gmt":"2012-07-13T16:46:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=35399"},"modified":"2012-07-13T12:46:36","modified_gmt":"2012-07-13T16:46:36","slug":"what-we%e2%80%99re-loving-toomer-kusama-and-train","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/07\/13\/what-we%e2%80%99re-loving-toomer-kusama-and-train\/","title":{"rendered":"What We\u2019re Loving: Toomer, Kusama, and Train"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Yayoi Kusama, Self-Obliteration No. 1<\/em>, 1962\u201367, watercolor, ink, graphite, and photocollage on paper, 15 7\/8 \u00d7 19 13\/16 in. Collection of the artist. \u00a9 Yayoi Kusama. Image courtesy Yayoi Kusama Studio Inc.; Ota Fine Arts, Tokyo; Victoria Miro Gallery, London<\/p><\/div>\n

Six years ago I wrote a\u00a0little article<\/a> about my favorite Washington, D.C., novels\u2014and was roundly chastised for leaving Cane<\/em><\/a> off the list. First published in 1923, Jean Toomer\u2019s modernist classic isn’t exactly about Washington, and it isn\u2019t exactly a novel. It\u2019s an early response to the Great Migration, in linked stories and\u00a0verse<\/a>, that moves from rural Georgia to U Street and back again. Still, it may well be the District\u2019s greatest hit. It is pure lyricism, perfect for these late summer nights. \u2014Lorin Stein<\/strong><\/p>\n

I caught a preview of the Yayoi Kusama retrospective<\/a> that opened at the Whitney yesterday. If you\u2019ve heard of her at all, it\u2019s likely for her signature polka dots (or perhaps for her recent collaboration with Louis Vuitton).\u00a0As a video in the show attests,\u00a0her use of those dots was compulsive and obsessive: she sticks them on prone nudes, reclining cats, distracted dogs; they litter the ground, the wind, the sky. But most intriguing are her very early paintings, in which you can see Kusama working through the early masters of Western modernism. Of particular interest was a very odd painting incredibly titled\u00a0Accumulation of Corpses (Prisoner Surrounded by the Curtain of Depersonalization)<\/em>, in which waves of red curtain folds pinhole a scene of bare trees. As chance would have it, the painting perfectly represented the book I\u2019ve been reading,\u00a0Windeye<\/em>,<\/a> Brian Evenson\u2019s adroitly creepy new story collection. It\u2019s kismet! \u2014Nicole Rudick
<\/strong><\/p>\n

What is glamour and how does one attain it? Is it curated, cultivated\u2014or does it just arrive, like inspiration? Jim Lewis\u2019s article for W<\/em> magazine, \u201cFace Forward,\u201d<\/a> is the perfect starting point for anyone intrigued by (or dismissive of) this fleeting, shimmering quality. For me, if beauty is an image, then glamour is imagery: aesthetics in the service of narrative. What is glamour, after all, but good storytelling? Presenting a glimpse of a lifestyle\u2014or perhaps, a way of being\u2014other, elsewhere, and then gone. \u2014Alyssa Loh
<\/strong><\/p>\n

British artist Tacita Dean\u2019s Five Americans<\/a><\/em> ended two weeks ago here in New York.\u00a0I wish today was two weeks ago because, since then, I\u2019ve been suspended in experiential longing for Dean\u2019s work.\u00a0Five Americans<\/em>, comprising mostly 16mm film, isn’t a show you can appreciate through the catalogue; it requires direct confrontation. In pursuit of a fix, I discovered this digitally distorted video juxtaposition<\/a>, still only a gentle reminder of what\u2019s possible in Dean\u2019s vivified, contrastive exhibitions.\u00a0\u2014Tyler Bourgoise <\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cYou Can Finally Meet My Mom<\/a>,\u201d by Train. This song is that special kind of bad, like smelling your fingers after eating street meat. That kind of bad that goes so far beyond awful that you need to study it, dissect it, tear it apart, light it on fire, and then look through the ashes for some secret, hidden meaning. Now, with a title like \u201cYou Can Finally Meet My Mom\u201d you\u2019d think it a cutesie pop song, y\u2019know, Billy J loves Margaret D, here\u2019s the next step after they hold hands and do a little closed-mouth, open-eye action. Not the case. No. Apparently the mother of the song\u2019s protagonist is dead. Kaput. And apparently the protagonist is gonna kick the bucket soon, so he\u2019s singing about how pumped he is for his girlfriend to die, too, because guess what, \u201cyou can finally meet my mom.\u201d What\u2019s more, dead b.f. is gonna spend all his time with dead g.f. Who else would he spend the time with, you ask? Don\u2019t worry: he answers that for you in a Velveeta taco-dip mix of dead celebrities.<\/p>\n

\n

Not Jimi Hendrix, Jesus or the dude
Who played the sherriff in Blazing Saddles<\/em>
You not Chris Farley Mr Rodgers
Not Gilda Radner, Buddha or the dude
Who had pop rocks and soda at the same time
You, not Jesse James, Paul Newman
not Etta James, Bob Marley or the girls who won my heart along the way
You, not Sitting Bull, Ella or Bach
Not Steve Jobs, or Ty Cobbs, Al Capone or any other mobs
Not Whitney Houston, Chet Baker, Andre the Giant or the Undertaker
and I almost forgot
You can finally meet my Mom.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

BRILLIANT. \u2014Noah Wunsch<\/strong><\/p>\n

[tweetbutton]<\/p>\n

[facebook_ilike]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Six years ago I wrote a\u00a0little article about my favorite Washington, D.C., novels\u2014and was roundly chastised for leaving Cane off the list. First published in 1923, Jean Toomer\u2019s modernist classic isn’t exactly about Washington, and it isn\u2019t exactly a novel. It\u2019s an early response to the Great Migration, in linked stories and\u00a0verse, that moves from […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[35,4024,7109,79,5040,46,67,7934,7938,1360,3209,8141,2422,8142,5885],"class_list":["post-35399","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-art","tag-brian-evenson","tag-cane","tag-film","tag-jean-toomer","tag-music","tag-painting","tag-tacita-dean","tag-tate-modern","tag-this-weeks-reading-2","tag-train","tag-washington-d-c","tag-whitney-museum","tag-windeye","tag-yayoi-kusama"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhat We\u2019re Loving: Toomer, Kusama, and Train by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"July 13, 2012 \u2013 Six years ago I wrote a\u00a0little article about my favorite Washington, D.C., novels\u2014and was roundly chastised for leaving Cane off the list. 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