Self-taught painter Jim Houser tells complex stories though his paintings and installations, mixing typography with his own unique brand of folk art. Known for his work with Space 1026 in Philadelphia, Jim’s art has graced the bottom of skateboards, tattooed arms and the walls of prestigious galleries world wide. Tristan Ceddia talks to Jim in the wake of his first Australian solo show, The Pregnant Pause.
Tristan Ceddia: Describe a day in the life of Jim Houser…
Jim Houser: Most days I wake up around 10. I take the dogs out, make coffee and paint. I usually work until two or three, then I run whatever errands I need to do. I take a nap everyday at five. I walk the dogs. My wife Jess comes home from work at seven, we eat dinner and watch TV, then I start working again and paint until one or two in the morning.
TC: At what age did you decide you wanted to be an artist?
JH: I don’t think I decided ever, really. It’s just the only thing that made me happy. I didn’t have much of a choice really.
TC: You have been involved with Space 1026 in Philadelphia since it began a decade ago. How did this space come about and how has it evolved since its conception?
JH: The space was just a group of guys that got out of art school and realised there wasn’t a place where they could do their thing, so they got together and started one. It was never really a ‘gallery’ meant to make money. It was (and still is) like a club house where people can make their art, hang out and feed off each other.
As far as how it has evolved, well, people get older and move on, and also every year there is a new group of people that get out of art school and are looking for something to do, so more people kind of join the fun. It’s been there 10 years now, which is mind boggling to me.
TC: I assume the gallery has had a considerable influence on the art scene in Philadelphia. How has it influenced your work personally?
JH: The space was the first place I ever had a show. I’d say the support I have gotten from the people there has been the biggest influence. You know, whatever influence your close friends would have.
TC: Have you always lived in Philadelphia? Did you grow up there?
JH: Yes , I grew up in the suburbs outside of Philadelphia. I lived in Providence, Rhode Island for three years in my twenties. I’ve been living back in Philly for 10 years.
TC: Your work mixes characters and text with a vintage pastel palette. What has influenced you to paint like this?
JH: No idea really. It’s not a conscious thing. It’s just years and years of following what I am able to make, guided by what I enjoy making. I play around and things grow on their own, you know?
TC: What does your studio look like at the moment?
JH: It’s pretty clean. It has a big flat table I paint at. A few shelves of tools, some book shelves and a television.
TC: How long have you been involved with Toy Machine?
JH: I think my first boards for Toy were in 1997 or ‘98 maybe.
TC: Working with them must be one of those dream jobs right?
JH: Sure. It was always a dream when I was younger to design my own skateboard. It always feels really cool to see some kid skate by and pick up his board, and it’s my graphic he’s riding. A few people have gotten tattoos of different graphics… It’s a big compliment. I haven’t done any boards in a while, but I email with Ed (Templeton) occasionally and if i think of something good I make it and he’ll use it. It’s not a regular thing anymore like it used to be though.
TC: You have a show currently at Monster Children Gallery. Where does the Pregnant Pause title come from?
JH: A pregnant pause is a pause in conversation that is rich in meaning . A silence that much can be inferred from, whether correctly or incorrectly.
TC: What’s next in your world?
JH: My wife and I have a baby on the way. She is due in May. I am currently painting rabbits on the walls of the nursery.
I’d also like to add that I really am bummed out about not being able to come to the show. My last trip to Sydney was so much fun. I really hope to return at some point . It’s an awesome place. I hope you like the show.
Standing taller than most and occasionally dressing like nordic tourists from the late 70s, Dave Ladd and Stephanie Anderson create a boot load of interesting stuff. He is big into sign writing and publishing zines whilst she is a model maker and animator, and together they had a modest studio named He She It They I. Rumour has it they once stretched a tin can phone between their apartment and that of a friend, as a very temporary mode of communication. There have also been whispers they hid a weed plant in an exhibition they had last year. Tristan Ceddia visited Dave and Steph in their Kings Cross apartment to talk about what other worldly things they have brewing.
Tristan Ceddia: So tell us a bit about yourselves? What are your backgrounds?
Dave Ladd: I studied illustration, practiced graphic design and worked in film and branding in the UK. Most recently I’ve been working in advertising. All via graffiti, collecting, building and sawdust-creating. I come from a family of makers and I guess that’s what I want to do.
Stephanie Anderson: I grew up in country NSW, public schools, all pretty normal I thought. I had great parents that I didn’t appreciate at the time, and a brother who was way too good at everything. We watched a lot of Muppets and Monty Python.
My family were also makers, but quite dissimilar to Dave’s, who are really proper craftspeople. My fam were more make-shift. My mum made us a lot of awesome things from MDF, like a two storey dollshouse with a lift, and she has encouraged every single thing I’ve believed in, especially Dave. Awww…
As well as making ferris-wheels for birds out of painted tin cans, my dad self-tinted the windows on at least one of our vans – using what I’m sure was just ordinary school-book contact. He also designed and made a prototype of a cruelty-free mousetrap on my request. I wish I could go back and appreciate all that now. Education wise, I’ve studied Communications, and also Fine Arts at COFA, did a year of Fashion too, and somehow managed not to obtain a degree.
TC: Steph, you work a lot with model making and stop animation. Are you formally trained as an animator or is this something you have taught yourself? Do you work commercially in animation?
SA: Um, I don’t know if I’d say I’m formally trained exactly. And I’d be kidding myself to say I am an animator. It’s such an incredible craft and skill.
When I was at COFA, animation was part of our time-based art course, and it was what I really loved. So we learned a lot about animation, were shown lots of amazing works I’d never have seen otherwise, and we were encouraged to have a crack at making animation using any means available, but it WAS art school after all, it was about the concept more than mastering the craft.
In my first or second year there, I found a roll of 16mm film print in a skip and took it home and scratched into some frames, no doubt just after having been shown the work of Paul Winkler or Len Lye. I then spent hours and hours, longer than I’d ever spent making anything, and had no idea what it would look like. But when I saw it projected, it was nearly 30 seconds for me, of absolute joy.
I’ve only really recently come to realise that same joy in making three dimensional objects, creatures, characters. I mean, tangible 3D, not digital. It’s that same expectant anticipation, waiting to see something cast in silver, or fired porcelain.
TC: I know collectively and independently, you both do a lot of creating, what is He She It They I all about?
SA: I love it when Dave tells stories, whether it’s about his mum and sister, or a news story or a childhood tale of he and a best mate, the characters featured are always ‘Your Mate’, ‘Chopsy’, ‘Knackers’ or the like, and he has a great way of just swapping out the gender unintentionally: “So Knackers is showing me his car, and she says-” “She?” “No He, Your Mate”.
DL: Don’t listen to Steph, she’s easily confused.
SA: He really is…
DL: He She It They I. is the everyman. I don’t mean the Aussie Battler, just that what we make is accessible. It’s not intentionally Low-Brow, Kustom or any one specific thing. We want everyone to be involved and they can. Dick jokes included.
TC: You have recently put the HSITI blog into drive and I know Dave, you been working on some new zine projects of late, what else do you have in the pipeline?
DL: Zine-wise we have a group zine called TOTEM that I want out by the end of February. Full of rad usual-collaborators plus a few new and exciting faces. We’re def def definitely working on something by the incredible We Buy Your KIds, and Matt Sewell and I have been threatening to make something together. Steph’s bro Otto is putting together what up until now has been a technical question mark, but we reckon we’ve resolved it. So yeah – that too.
We’re in the process of launching a small range of hand-made and cast silver jewellery (a sneak preview of which you’ve shown here). Stephanie’s leading the charge on that – I’m just fannying about, learning from her.
The blog is a work in progress too. It’s as much about our friends and those we admire, as us, but it all relates pretty much to exactly what we’re doing at that moment.
TC: Steph, you have gained a notoriety from your hamburger zines. I heard they were picked to be featured in a book recently?
SA: Hehehe. It was a funny turn of events spanning two annual MCA zine fairs, and it’s fun that it’s still playing out. I had my first attempt at making a zine for Dave to take to the Fair in 2008. I didn’t really take it seriously. I was a bit disrespectful of the zine culture to be honest.
Our house was full of coloured card and paper left over from recent jobs. I stapled together an arbitrary bunch of different colours and textures, cut some out in shapes and put a hole punch through it, and that was it, my zine. Then I went, oh that looks kinda like cheese, and that looks like a tomato sauce splat… and then I sat up the rest of the night with Dave and our friend Benzo, checking the massive pile of paper for ingredients (lettuce – green tissue paper; bacon – translucent textured salmon card) – and made my burger. It was so lovely when the amazing Sonny and Biddy ended up buying it. Wow.
Following year I made mini-sized ones. Put a little more effort into them, and it’s these which (I hope) will be featured in a book sometime this year, yes! Very flattering and exciting.
And following on from that, I’m making some jewellery, pendants. Burgers and some other bits too, sandwiches, cheese on toast, pears. All food related I just realised. Jeez.
TC: Your show Making Friends last year at China Heights gallery brought together a fun/pun mix of graphic design, model making, art, typography and plant life. Did the show come together and play out as expected?
SA: Looking back at early sketches I was surprised to see that some things actually did make it in, but I don’t think we really set out to create a specific thing. We’re probably both too scared of failure, or too lazy to work towards a goal in that way.
But it was amazing, the whole experience, and in that sense it wasn’t at all what I expected. I didn’t expect to enjoy the process, or the opening night, or to come out of it feeling so inspired that I carried armature wire around everywhere with me for the next couple months, just in case I wanted to make something.
We also had the very horrible experience of losing a wonderful and close friend of ours just before the exhibition. We were glibly dealing with notions of friendship and love and death, and then suddenly the plants growing or dying in the corner of the room had enough gravity to make me cry. Mark and Ed (of China Heights) were awesome, they were never stressed, or never showed it, not even with me crouching all day in the corner with those plants.
DL: It started as something and end up another thing. Some things surprisingly remained, but I don’t think we would have ever made what we originally discussed. It was an incredibly organic process and again, surprisingly without hiccups, too much stress or arguments. Fuck knows what we did right. Or wrong.
Like Steph said, Mark and Ed were a great barometer and sounding-post, working with us to make it happen smoothly and on-time, but also to have fun doing so.
Making Friends was an exact mirror of our relationship and mindset at the time: Friendship; loss; collaboration; celebration and ultimately, growth.
TC: Your works reference an eclectic mix of vintage style design, illustration and animation. Do you feel you represent these themes in the design process also?
SA: Interesting question actually, and I don’t even know if you are addressing me at all here, but it has made me think, in some instances it seems the processes we’d use are so far removed from traditional methods, I mean, digital cameras, scanners, retouching programs. But I’m reminded by the multiple cuts and grossnesses on my hands that we’re frequently hand carving, cutting, sanding, polishing – so i don’t feel like we’re very tech savvy or tech heavy.
DL: Um, I guess none of the crafts we use are new. Gocco, Riso, drawing, sculpting and casting. Even the animation is as basic as animation can be without being a flip-book.
We don’t have a great deal of room to work or abundant resource and I guess this dictates what we make: If there was a kiln accessible and nearby, Steph would make more porcelain. Steph really drives the different things we make and I usually tail-in on whatever materials she’s using – until I lose interest. I’m happy doodling and stapling and trimming.
Lo-fi processes usually produce lovely results – like seeing the maker in the made. I adore and reject modernism in equal parts, although I wish I could design like the current modernist designers in the UK. I can’t, but I can look at their work for hours on the internet and put it folders by hand.
TC: Dave I know you are heavily into hand done sign writing and truck pin-striping. What is the attraction here?
DL: Truck pinstriping is, to me, part of our national identity. The scrollwork, colour-ways and dedications are all done in a uniquely Australian hand. Traveling to visit our grandparents as kids, we’d drive up Cement Hill (in Brighton, South Australia) and there’d be a procession of semis alongside us. I distinctly recall asking my parents what function these scrolls had. I couldn’t believe they could be simply decorative.
I barely notice the trucks themselves and – besides the craft – don’t particularly like the aesthetic tone of US-style striping. Australian trucks and their scrolls are a beautiful masculine/feminine dichotomy.
Signwriting, like pinstriping, is a living thing. Never perfect, the artist’s hand is present and the type-forms make so much more sense in an environment built for humans. Signwriting allows the corner deli to have it’s own voice, it’s own character and it’s own identity. We called our corner-shop the Green Frog Deli ’cause it had a green frog painted on the hoarding. So rad.
Signwriting isn’t two weights of Helvetica or copy/paste design. No matter how old, faded or poorly painted, it’s intrinsically live communication.
TC: You both collect vintage souvenirs from around the world. From what I gather, there is an underlying Nordic and Alaskan theme here. From what comes your obsession with the northern regions of the globe?
SA: My dad was Canadian, with a Finnish mother. He was in the Airforce, so had spent time travelling about before moving to Australia. He used to have lots of funny little Viking/Eskimo/Gonk figures that I coveted. But he was also averse to snow, vowed never to see it again, and didn’t up to the day he died (from melanoma!). Hence when I met Dave I had never seen snow, and I was as averse to sun and heat as my father to snow.
I knew Dave a little when he came to Berlin where I was living, for his work with the Edinburgh Film Festival. Their next stop was Oslo and he convinced me to come along to see snow. Which I did. And did. That whole experience certainly cemented the Nordic thing.
There is also the Velvet Underground song Stephanie Says, and the fact that Dave used to write Alas, as good pointers toward Alaska.
DL: The pattern, form and colour used in Nordic and Scandinavian design is incredible. It is linked to a tradition of hand-craftiness and is immediately recognisable as such. Nah, it’s just rad in the North.
TC: What does the future hold?
SA: Making the most of our current situation and the fact that we are both inspired. Just wanna make, make, make at the moment – while that moment lasts.
Scott Pommier’s interest in photography began when he started using his mother’s semi-automatic SLR to take pictures of his friends skateboarding. Since then, he has shot covers for every major skateboarding publication and now divides his time between his position as a senior photographer for SBC Skateboard magazine, a variety of editorial and commercial jobs, a book project to be completed next year, and spending more hours either behind the wheel or in front of the computer than he ever imagined possible.
Your photographs have a timeless quality about them. Which photographers or eras do you look to for inspiration?
‘I feel like I’ve picked up little lessons, or perhaps truisms is closer to the mark, from a lot of photographers. I’ve never studied the history of photography. I only really know what I’ve tripped across. A few years ago, I was at a friend’s place and he had a beautiful book of photographs by Deirdre O’Callaghan called Hide That Can, about a hostel in London. Looking through it, I realized that although I had a pretty good understanding of the mechanics of photography, I wasn’t really attuned to the subtleties. Looking back, that was a turning point in a couple of different ways. For a start, I decided I wanted to get a lot more comfortable shooting available light photographs. And also, I don’t think I’d really thought about journalism as art until that point. I was already a senior photographer for an international skateboarding magazine before I started to figure out how I wanted to shoot pictures and even before my pictures began to mean anything to me. It wasn’t until then that I actually felt like a photographer. This is all actually pretty recent. I wanted so badly to be a child prodigy, but I think I’m a late-bloomer.
‘The way that I do things is a struggle. So I relate to other photographers whose work entails struggle. I love Sally Mann’s photographs, for instance. And when think about what it took to take them, I love them all the more. Joel Sternfeld’s book, American Prospects, made me realize how effective it can be to take a step back. Distance can change the meaning.
‘I bought a copy of LIFE magazine from 1968 and it looked like it could have all been shot by the same photographer. Even the ads. I like that era. There was craft to it, but not an overproduction. Depending on what I’m shooting, I’m conscious of cropping out a lot of the clues as to when a photo was taken’.
You were a skateboarder before you were a skateboard photographer. Do you think it’s necessary to really understand the sport and lifestyle in order to shoot it properly?
‘If your audience is a group of skateboarders, then yes, absolutely. If there’s an exception to the rule, I’ve yet to hear about it. A skateboard photographer has to balance a very particular set of requirements. You have to show the difficulty of what you’re photographing, so you have to be mindful that the angle you choose shows that the railing is very steep, the stairs are tall, the ledge is long, and so on’.
‘You also have to capture what a sports photographer would call the peak action. But the way that a skateboarder perceives that might be a bit different to how the rest of the world sees it. If you were shooting a baseball player hitting a ball, you might get a good shot of the batter with the bat cocked or the follow through after the ball has been struck. But if you shoot a skateboard trick even a hair too early or too late, the photo would never run in a skateboard magazine and the core audience would reject it.
‘Skateboarders are a suspicious bunch. It’s not a role they tend to trust non-skateboarders with. So, there’s a question of access. In principle, it’s possible. But clearing that many hurdles and adhering to that many caveats is really only appealing to someone who’s involved in the sport’.
It looks as though most of your photos are shot on the fly. Do you ever set up shots or do you rely more on instinct to quickly catch the moment?
‘My whole approach has changed in the last few years. I used to set up pretty much every shot. Now I usually only it set up when I can’t find a shot. A few years ago something really obvious would have had to reveal itself for me to abandon whatever plan I had in my head. These days I try and tread a little more softly. I don’t sprint to the finish line, I doddle a little, waiting to see if something suggests itself. And I try to be ready for the fleeting moments. You miss them all the time. But that’s part of it. There are always more to come’.
It seems that quite a few things will benefit from a Scandinavian touch. Munchausen, a duo formed by Parisian designers Simon Pillard and Philippe Rosetti, took a bold approach with their own kitchen by venturing to IKEA for the basic kitchen island and then spending the next week covering it with more than 20,000 pieces by another Scandinavian brand, Lego
The result is a one-of-a-kind creation that serves as an artistic centerpiece for the space, in addition to functioning as a kitchen counter. Pillard, who works with fashion house JC de Castelbajac, and Rosetti who works with Hugo Boss France Identity, formed Munchhausen in 2004.
The two have recently contributed a collection of T-shirts, cushions, wallpaper and accessories for the new French labelCommune de Paris, 1871. Munchhausen was one of three initial contributors for Commune de Paris, 187. The other two were Julien Langendorff and David Herman Dune. - Tuija Seipell.
The Nakagin Capsule Tower, an exercise in Metabolist architecture.
Once you arrive in Tokyo’s busy commercial district of Shimbashi, a short walk from the station brings you to a noisy highway overpass, and beside that the futuristic Nakagin Capsule Tower. The tower’s stunning design may strike passersby as something straight out of a science-fiction movie, but it stands as a unique architectural beacon amongst the common apartment high-rises and office buildings of Ginza. Designed by the late Japanese architect Kurokawa Kisho, the 14-story tower is composed of 140 individual capsules that function as apartments and business offices. The tower has also served as a prototype of sorts for uniquely Japanese urban accommodations, such as business andcapsule hotels.
Written by Blair McBride
But the future of the tower is uncertain. For various reasons, including maintenance concerns and a lack of local support for preservation, the building will be demolished in less than two years unless a substantial preservation plan can be formed and accepted. The possible demolition would be a disappointing loss for Japanese architecture, as few of Kurokawa’s Metabolist buildings remain in Japan.
Seen at an angle, the protruding capsules are clearly visible.
Nakagin Capsule Tower and Metabolism
Constructed in 1972, the tower is a prime example of Kisho’s Metabolism architecture movement that focused on adaptable, growing, and interchangeable building designs. Metabolism — the word suggesting organic growth that responds to its environment — influenced every step of the tower’s construction. The capsules were manufactured in a factory in Shiga Prefecture and transported to Tokyo by truck. They were then attached to the tower’s central beam. The capsules were designed to be removable and replaceable from the central beam. Even the seemingly small space inside the capsules can be modified — it can be increased by connecting capsules to other capsules. The tower’s simple, minimalist design was deliberate. As a Metabolist building, Kurokawa believed that the inherent beauty of materials like concrete and steel meant that they didn’t need any special modifications or decorations.
Looking up at the Nakagin Capsule Tower.
But why construct a capsule building in the first place? Kurokawa observed that throughout Japanese history, frequent natural disasters — and also the destruction caused by World War 2 — meant that Japanese cities built from natural materials had temporary, even unpredictable lifespans. Kurokawa therefore wanted to continue that tradition of temporality in building design by constructing modern but changeable buildings.
The Metabolist ideas found in the Nakagin Capsule Tower were born in 1960 at the “World Design Conference” held in Tokyo. Most Metabolist buildings were constructed in the 1960s and 70s. Other than Nakagin, some notable Metabolist works of Kurokawa that use capsules include The Karuizawa Capsule House in Nagano and theSony Tower in Osaka. Unfortunately, the Sony Tower was demolished in 2006. Also noteworthy is the gently curving, cellular-inspiredYamagata Hawaii Dreamland Resort in Yamagata Prefecture. An important Western building influenced by the Metabolist Movement isHabitat 67 in Montreal, Canada, designed by Moshe Safdie.
The work of Kamakura-based architect Jin Hidaka is heavily influenced by Metabolism. Hidaka operates the Slowmedia Japanese architecture forum. He will present a talk entitled “Reconsideration of the ‘Metabolism Model’” at the upcoming Design 2050 Union of International Architects (UIA) congress, to be held in Tokyo in 2011. As Hidaka states, the Metabolist ideas of the 1960s “were very new, they saw cities as ‘moving’ and dynamic, that concept is real. Metabolism wanted to collaborate with engineers, they invited scientists, designers, and industrial designers. They wanted trans-cultural collaborations. It’s still relevant because of the ‘dynamic city’ and trans-cultural aspects. I want these collaborations to continue.”
But Metabolist buildings such as Nakagin and the Sony Tower haven’t proven as resilient as their ideas. “Metabolism wanted to create a new system of architecture,” Hidaka explains. “For example, product design where you can change different parts of it after finishing. [But] Metabolism has limits.”
Those limits are seen in the Nakagin Tower. Hidaka says that Nakagin “is a complicated building and a complicated situation.” Despite the tower’s importance as a major Metabolist project, Hidaka admits that there were faults in design. “The tower had a design period of only four months — shorter than usual, and it was rushed. The designing went on even after construction had already started.”
The capsules around the central beam were intended to be replaceable, in line with the Metabolist philosophy of interchangeability. But the capsules haven’t been replaced, and Hidaka points to the design to explain why. “The capsules can be taken apart from the center beam, but only from the top, not the bottom — a simple design problem because taking them apart from the bottom would be easier.”
The Nakagin Capsule Tower, at an angle.
Way forward
The complicated nature of the tower is evident in the mixed levels of support seen for the preservation of the building. As Mr. Tanaka ofKurokawa Kisho Architects explains, there is support for repairing the building, “but then due to budgetary concerns from a small group of people, it was decided after the votes [were collected] from the residents that it is to be demolished,” making way for a new building.
A raised highway passes in front of the Nakagin Capsule Tower (left). A closer look at the capsules.
On the other hand, international support for preserving the building is enormous and articulate. In a survey by London-based World Architecture News, over 10,000 architects in 100 countries were polled on their thoughts on preserving the tower. The survey resultswere as follows: 75% for replacing the capsules, 20% for leaving it as is, and 5% for demolition. Even if the tower is demolished, international interest remains high. According to Hidaka, “the 2010Pompidou exhibition will showcase Japanese architecture, and they want a capsule to exhibit if it is demolished.”
A closer look at the exterior windows of the tower.
Despite the unfortunate possibility of demolition, there are other options for the future of the tower. One is to buy the capsules from the owners one-by-one. That could be an expensive option, but for Hidaka, “it’s worth the cost of buying the capsules if the building can be preserved.” Other possibilities include opening a competition for new interior designs and replacing the current capsules with new ones. If the capsules are replaced, another option is to use the tower as a hotel. But according to Hidaka, Kurokawa tried to do just that and found the situation “difficult.”
The Nakagin Capsule Tower in detail.
No one can be sure as to what will happen to Nakagin. But the building and the ideas behind it have represented unique and appreciated contributions to architecture. Jin Hidaka is optimistic that Metabolism can still contribute to architecture and culture. Metabolism can’t be done “the same way anymore, but if we can change the direction we can do it. Because now we have the technology that they didn’t have back then.”
The Nakagin Capsule Tower certainly faces a troubled future, so if you’d like to check it out for yourself, do it as soon as possible!
