Friday, April 18, 2008

Persons of Interest

VIOLATORS OF FEDERAL SMOKING BAN.
Please notify authorities if you see these indviduals. They're wanted for questioning.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Sunday, April 13, 2008

The Lost Portrait of Joyce Rigaut by Salvador Dali

Missing since 1952, Dali's infamous portrait of French scat-singer, Joyce Rigaut, Le tronc du désir (1940) was discovered yesterday at an abandoned warehouse in Lodi, New Jersey. The original oil on canvas was stolen from a gallery in Paris, yet never appeared on the black market. While alive, the artist refused to comment on the theft or the work itself. It was widely believed that Dali based the portrait on a painting of Rigaut by artist Norman Conquest (shown above right).

Despite being a self-proclaimed "devout lesbian," Joyce Rigaut had affairs with both artists and wrote several scathing torch songs about the relationships.

The lyrics to "Dadali-dobabba-rom" go as follows:


Shoo-doo-shoo-bee-ooo-bee-Dali était un tisket élégant-âne, un pensée-âne itsy-bitsy, un fatale-oof; dobabba-romma-boma... Grinçant de femme de hokey-hokey cowboy..gabba-doooba-walla-ooh-ooh-lubba franalabba... wadda-binkyblankyboda, skedooo-skezam dadi dadi dadi-doowa mula-mula; bacoba cowba-dabba-wabba-skeedanzee, babylooba-nana-alama...deedeedalabbada-whammm!


The Poor Slob and The Good Fairy (Trailer)



Here's a lovely little trailer based on an 1899 Parisian cabaret script by the great Alphonse Allais.

Absinthe, anyone?



Saturday, April 12, 2008

A Toast to Alphonse Allais!

We raise our glasses high in honor of M. Alphonse Allais and the forthcoming release of his new book, Lost in Translation & Other Works. Written in collaboration with Le Scat Noir's Directeur Éditorial, Derek Pell, the book is being published by the great Paul Rosheim as part of his esteemed limited edition series from Obscure Publications— preserved in a special collection at Indiana State University.

We will provide our readers with an advance preview of the cover soon, so remain alert. Now drink up!

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Where’s the Magic? Going, Going, Gone.


PARISBernard Kouchner, the foreign minister of France and a longtime humanitarian, diplomatic and political activist on the international scene, says that whoever succeeds President George W. Bush will be “at the helm of a sinking vessel.” He said the United States' battered image had suffered irreparable damage and "the magic is over."

In a wide-ranging conversation with the editor of Le Scat Noir, Kouchner vented his frustration in a string of clichés and mixed metaphors: “The thrill is gone. Kaput. America is an empty shell—a mere shadow of its former self. A land of has-beens and hacks. It’s a shopworn relic, the ghost of an Imperialist empire. What was once a vast, complex canvas filled with bright colors and hidden meanings is now simply a blank slate. Tabula rasa. Zip. Zero. Nada. America is a banana republic and Europe has stopped slipping on its peel. The joke is over, the gig is up. The gag has no punch line. The joke is stale, so to speak.
"America has nothing up its sleeves to dazzle us. Alas, Jerry Lewis is dead... he is dead isn't he?”

Asked whether the United States could repair the damage it has suffered to its reputation during the Bush presidency Kouchner smiled, "Not in a thousand years."

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Manson Family Values


Just like Hitler.
I ain’t got nuffin’ ‘gainst Hitler. Monster like me. That’s what yawl made me. You fear me and you want to fuck me. Ain’t that why you got all hotted up about the fims was shot of the tribe orgies?

Where the fims at, Coyote? How can I get my doggy paws on ‘em? How can I slobber all over them with my forked tongue?

—from Jesus Coyote by Harold Jaffe


Harold Jaffe’s blistering new novel, JESUS COYOTE (Raw Dog Screaming Press), re-imagines the Manson murders and the myths surrounding the guru at their core. This “docufiction” is Surreality TV—experimental, satirical, poetic, shocking, and on the mark.

Jaffe’s vision is like a transcript discovered at a crime scene.




Sunday, March 30, 2008

Saturday, March 29, 2008

The Secret World of Gustav Hébert



How to Paint
by Gustav Hébert
Phaideron Press, ppbk ($20)


Originally published in France in 1930, How to Paint by Gustav Hébert is a very peculiar book. It is not a “how to” by any means for its author was a trained chemist and hack photographer; not a painter. The title, one eventually discovers, is an intentional misnomer; an ironic insult hurled at the Parisian art world. Released by the reputable house of Duart Editions, the original morocco-bound volume was financed by its author and designed in the elegant style of the 19th century. It was translated from the French by Hébert himself and upon publication it caused a minor uproar. Although dismissed by most critics as frivolous and absurd, the Paris Surrealists declared it a classic. In a review published in Le Nouvel Oberservateur, André Breton hailed it as “l’amour fou illuminé.”



Adding to the book’s mystique was a reproduction of Réne Magritte’s painting, Attempting the Impossible (1928), which appeared on the front cover. In the absence of a subtitle this was only a cryptic clue to the nature of what was, in fact, a memoir. The title of a German edition (1967)—Bein Malen, Versteckt Sich Man (“When Painting, One Conceals Oneself”)—is closer to the mark.


Hébert, the son of a chemist, was educated to follow in his father’s footsteps, but abandoned science to pursue his true talent: chasing women. At the age of 19 he was given a camera and quickly realized the “opportunities” it afforded him. In 1921 he was hired as a photographer by the Paris-based Les Éditions d’Art Devambez, the largest publisher of lithographic post cards—those famously French risqué and pornographic relics marketed to tourists. Or, in the words of the author:

“...those pathetic souls who wandered the city like wraiths… glassy-eyed gentlemen from New York and London.”

The firm’s owner, Alfred Devambez, took a liking to the young man, and when he died three years later, Hébert found himself in charge of the lucrative enterprise. He devoted the next several years to seducing hundreds of models he photographed, amassing a small fortune, and collecting contemporary erotic paintings by artists such as Picasso and Delvaux. He became excessively concerned with the preservation of his collection and believed the paintings were fading prematurely under artificial light. He wrote to Edmund Germer (the German inventor of the fluorescent lamp) seeking advice. Several months later, Germer traveled to Paris to meet Hébert and agreed to collaborate on a series of experiments analyzing the effects of light on painted surfaces.

On November 18, 1926, they made a startling discovery. Using one of Germer’s experimental arc lamps, Hébert coated its tube with a pyotized-fluorescing powder which transformed UV into an eerie, aqua-colored radiance. By shining the lamp directly on a canvas which had been layered with a mixture of gouache and polynucleotide (a polymerase enzyme which causes pigments to erode), the light rays penetrated the opaque watercolors and—“in under a minute”—exposed the blank surface beneath.

Although Germer found the effect “amusing,” he was not particularly enthusiastic. Hébert, by contrast, was ecstatic.

“It fired my imagination—transported me to the base of Mount Helikon itself, where I stood in the shadow of the muses!”

He began referring mischievously to the discovery as “pentimento-mori” and considered using the pun as the title for his book but, eventually, ruled it out as too esoteric.

Inspired by a plan he believes will make him famous, Hébert selected twenty-six of his most explicit photographs, enlarged them to poster-size, and glued each to a stretched canvas of the same dimensions. He then enlisted the help of a painter friend whom he refers to only by the initials “M.C.” (The artist was rumored to have been Marc Chagall.)

“At my direction [M.C.] set about concealing the nudity in the pictures using the gouache mixture. With agile strokes of his brush, he clothed each model in suitably tasteful attire, using popular magazines as his guide. His génie artistique extended beyond painting over the offensive genital areas to include sartorial flourishes and embellishments such as hats, gloves, and jewelry. Working at a most feverish pace, he completed the entire series in three days!”

Hébert spared no expense framing the painted photographs, and paid the esteemed Galerie sur la lune to sponsor an exhibition. Over 2,000 embossed invitations were mailed to members of Parisian society, as well as government officials, foreign dignitaries, and stars of the cinema. Although no one had ever heard of the artist, on January 5, 1927, more than a thousand curious invitees showed up for the opening of Les habitants merveilleux de Paris: nouvelles peintures par Gustav Hébert. Since occupancy was limited to 200, many were forced to wait outside in a torrential winter rain.

Once inside, visitors were greeted by a bizarre spectacle. Standing beside each painting was a blindfolded attendant dressed in a uniform resembling a Victorian constable, i.e., a stovepipe hat, red swallow-tailed coat, white trousers, and wellington boots.




With small groups gathered before each exhibit, the lights were switched off and the gallery bathed in darkness. A whistle then blew, signaling the attendants who, one by one, turned on a small arc lamp attached to the painting’s frame.







“A rapt silence followed as the pedestrian paintings began to vanish under the queer illumination, and in their place appeared, as if by magic, my original photographs which lurked beneath the surface. The silence was broken by gasps. Women screamed, fainted, or fled. Fistfights broke out. Curses and insults echoed like gunshots through the gallery. In short, my dignified guests had gone berserk.”

From the sidelines Hébert observed the scene calmly:

“...I stood smoking a cigarette and watched the ensuing pandemonium. The newspapers would be clamoring for interviews. My portrait would be caricatured on the front page of Le Scat Noir. Each photograph would be described in lurid detail. The exhibition would be the talk of the town!” Finally, however, reality set in. “…my ebullience tempered by a dark cloud overhead. The authorities would be arriving soon. The festivities, alas, would reach their dénouement. I slipped out the rear exit and strolled off in the direction of home…"

The final chapter includes a photograph of the prison cell where the author wrote his book. The accompanying ten pages describe the cramped space in such minute detail that it anticipates Robbe-Grillet and the nouveau roman.

The book concludes with this quasi-poetic description of dust-motes:

“…tiny phantoms, souls of fleas, an animated composition rising from a tethered canvas, escaping via an illuminated escalator to freedom—that pure, glittering realm of Eros—Eros everlasting. It is here (and only here) where one discovers how to paint.”









Click here to order the book from Amazon.com




For additional information on this book, see our previous posts click here and click here.




Wednesday, March 26, 2008

First Edition


Here is a scan of the orginal cover of How to Paint, the classic memoir by Gustav Hébert (see previous post). Expertly bound to style in brown half morocco incorporating the original pebble-grain cloth-covered boards, original gilt lettered spine in six compartments with raised bands, the bands highlighted in gilt, cream/yellow glazed endpapers, gilt edges. Color reproduction of René Magritte's Attempting the Impossible (1928) tipped in recessed front panel. Text in English, translated from the French by the author. Illustrated with 42 b/w photographs. 308 pages. [Duart Editions, Paris: 1930]
Courtesy Le Scat Noir Library collection

Gustav Hébert Rides Again


The obscure avant-garde classic How to Paint by Gustav Hébert is being published for the first time in the United States by Phaideron. Above is a scan of the title page and frontis from the original volume issued in Paris by Claude Laforte (DUART EDITIONS: 1930). It is extremely rare—one of only 650 copies.
The contemporary edition will go on sale April 1st and can be purchased here from Amazon.com.



We will feature an extended review of How to Paint soon.
Speaking of painting, here's a lovely portrait of the bohemian queen, Wanda Gág, brush in hand...





Click here for a sample of her work.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Wicked Wanda


Macy's Stairway (1940)
Another lovely work by Wanda Gág, the Bohemian Queen.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Another Gág for Spring


The Forge (1932) by bohemian queen Wanda Gág (pronounced "gog" as in blog)

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Bone-Dancing in Dadaland





DADA: The Revolt of Art by Marc Dachy (Abrams: Discoveries Series, paperback) proves that good things really do come in small packages. This slender little book measures a mere 6.9 x 4.9 x 0.3 inches, weighs less than 8 ounces, and is wham-packed with tantalizing text and illustrations. As far as introductory guides go, this is one of the best we’ve seen. It doesn’t tip its hat and suck its thumb. It doesn’t lecture. It doesn’t treat the reader like an idiot—even if s/he never heard of DADA (or MOMA for that matter). It pulls one in via its undertow. The surface of looks deceptively calm… a clean, collage-like layout beckons... until—too late—you're in over your head, bombarded with shrieking DADA posters and rare, razor-sharp photographs.

A color swarm triggers eye-vibes—DADA is served! The book’s piercing overview is sprinkled with glistening gumdrops. Dachy delves into crevasses one might expect to find in prohibitively priced tomes thrice its size. You might say it’s a coffee table book for one's back pocket. A concealed weapon.

You begin browsing, pause and lock in on, a robo-erotic photograph of Sophie Taeuber dancing at the Cabaret Voltaire. Oh Dada! You zoom in for a closer look and find Hugo Ball’s description: “…a dance full of splinters and bones, full of sparkling light, of penetrating intensity. The lines of her body were broken, ever gesture decomposed into a hundred precise, angular, incisive movements.”

The next thing you know you’re lusting after Arps!

The author knows which tidbits to hook his readers with, and sends us down the rabbit hole, head-first. DADA: The Revolt of Art is one of those rare guides that both neophytes and junkies will cling to. Cunningly designed to “combat speed prayer tranquility,” DADA spreads the good word—revolt—like butter.

Welcome to Dadaland!



You can obtain a copy if you CLICK HERE

Found Erratum #24


Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Ahh...the First Day of Spring!



















Spring in the garden (1927) by Wanda Gág

29395

UniGene Mm.29395 Mus musculus (mouse)

***
Bug #29395 sqlite_escape_string may return a random string Submitted: 26 Jul 2004 9:18pm UTC Modified: 27 Jul 2004 7:35pm UTC

***
Jonesville, SC 29395

***
DAR File No. 29395: Acupuncture Licensing Act Rules

***
OSTI ID: 29395; Legacy ID: DE95007377 A: DR reactor heat decay test at high outlet water temperatures

***
Farm/Ranch - $65,000 - 29395 Montauk Lane, Elkhart IN 46517

***

29, 395 wounded in Iraq

Mea Culpa Mon Amour



ALBANY—In an extraordinary news conference on his first day on the job, Gov. David A. Paterson acknowledged on Tuesday that he had committed numerous crimes over the past twenty years, including armed robbery, rape, arson, assault, and manslaughter. He also confessed to being unfaithful to his wife, who stood by his side looking pained. Apparently hearing the news for the first time, Michelle Page Patterson moved to the microphone and confessed to her husband and the public that she, too, had several extramarital affairs.

Gov. Patterson—who appeared blindsided by the announcement—wobbled at the lectern and collapsed.

He was revived moments later and—after a brief break to regain his composure—continued on with his address, providing dates and details of his lifelong crime-spree.

Mr. Patterson, a Democrat, concluded the twenty minute litany of felonies by saying he hoped his openness about his past “failures” would help him gain the trust of New Yorkers. “I want to move on and focus on governing.”

Uniformed police officers placed Patterson in handcuffs and led him from the room.

In a related development, at a hastily-convened press conference in Trenton, NJ, Dina Matos McGreevey, the estranged wife of former governor James McGreevey, apologized to the public for having had a threesome with her husband and David Patterson while Gov. McGreevey held office.

With her lawyer, Ted Macklestein, at her side, Ms. McGreevey told reporters that sex with her husband had left her “unfulfilled” since it rarely included “penetration.”

“I suggested to Jim that we include another guy in the mix and he liked the idea. In retrospect, I now realize that we should not have engaged in such activity while he was serving the public. Even though the sex included two consenting government officials and myself, it was wrong and, for my part, I’m profoundly sorry.”

When asked by reporters which sex acts the trio engaged in, McGreevey's lawyer cut her off.

“For Dina to divulge the details of her sexlife in this forum would be highly inappropriate,” said Macklestein. "You'll just have to wait for the book."

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Georges Méliès - The Wizard of Odd



Cinematic mischief (circa 1900) is afoot in a new DVD collection from Flicker Alley: “Georges Méliès: First Wizard of Cinema (1896-1913). The creator of the classic short film Le Voyage dans la lune is back in this boxed set of five DVDs featuring more than 170 titles. Pure magick!


Monday, March 17, 2008

Happy St. Patrick's Day!




















—McMondrian
















And cheers from Jimmy, our Dublin Bureau Chief.


Browsing the Interstates




It wasn’t easy selecting the most boring example from this eye-numbing collection of 160 postcards from the 50s and 60s. We finally settled on this specimen:







Traveling on Beautiful Interstate 35

Despite the card’s title, the subject appears to be the overpass, smack dab in the middle of the image. At least those 20 clouds exhibit good composition. (Yes, we counted them, nothing else to do) Look closely and you'll see an actual automobile in the left lane—either coming, going, or stalled, it’s impossible to tell. One can only imagine what was going through the mind of the shutterbug who captured the scene for posterity. ‘Time for lunch!’

160 photographs and not a Kodak moment in the batch.

But, remember, that’s the point of this bad trip. In place of meaning and symbolism, the cards offer colors that probably seemed “lifelike” once. Today the tones are decidedly surreal; over-saturated or drained. The subject matter is beside the point, or several blocks away. Whatever one might reasonably define as “interesting” is nowhere to be seen.

At least some people will find the titles such as Site of Proposed Larger Taconite Plant poetic.

BORING POSTCARDS USA (From the collection of Martin Parr; Phaidon; $9.95) will leave you either in stitches or in tears, depending on your mood. It’s a retro eye-ball joyride over miles of gray pavement, brown grass, yellow-bled brick facades, russet factories, tawdry-mauve motel rooms, and putrescent green swimming pools. Browsing may trigger nightmares in Boomers, a la remember that lousy summer when we drove to Californiathat yuckky vacation we spent reading road signs, etc.

Younger viewers may experience a Twilight Zone-moment—sudden nostalgia for places never seen. Or maybe not. After all, highways are highways and toll booths are toll booths.

Art? Sociology? Pop Culture? A gag gift?

All of the above.


What, me worry?


"When you overcorrect, you end up in a ditch...It's important to be steady."


Think Spring Delights ... four days and counting....

Fair Spring ! whose simplest promise more delights
Than all their largest wealth, and thro' the heart
Each joy and new-born hope
With softest influence breathes.

Edmund Waller (1606 - 1687)

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Thursday, March 13, 2008

<< Advertisement No. 2 >>





















Photo courtesy of Zoom Street

Notice to Readers Who Might be Offended



It has come to the attention of the Editorial Board that certain readers have been (or are about to become) offended by the scatological nature of some of the news items and articles which appear on this page.

Regarding the news we print, it should go without saying that we do not create the news, but merely report it—in as fair and balanced a manner as possible.

We are, after all, human beings.

In the words of H.L. Mencken, “Sh-- happens,” and when it does, Le Scat Noir is on the scene. And that is as it should be.

We are, after all, journalists.

It is fair to state that the literary texts we occasionally publish—as well as the photographs and illustrations which accompany them—are, by and large, of a wholesome nature and might easily appear in a magazine for Boy Scouts. On the other hand it is a well known fact that many artists possess neurotic and/or perverted psychologies and derive peculiar satisfaction from exploring scatological subject matter. Indeed, some psychologists argue that artists are by nature “sick” and should be confined to mental hospitals where they can “masturbate like monkeys” without posing a threat to the general public.

The Editorial Board is divided on this point.

Associate Editor Paul du Frond-Massage seemed confused by the notion. “I thought rabbits were the ones always masturbating…”

Derek Pell, the Editorial Director, believes we should avoid publishing scatological works because they are—quite literally—beneath us. “The stuff is asinine,” says Pell. “And it’s patently offensive to the vast majority of the American public. Art and literature preoccupied with excrement is not just sophomoric, but it undermines this publication’s credibility and purpose.”

Maurice P. Turdot II, Le Scat Noir’s patron saint and mascot, disagrees. “We should be guided by the words of the great Antonin Artaud: ‘All art is pig-sh--!’ Thus—like it or not—to publish art and literature is to be actively engaged in the distribution of excrement. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not saying that publishing this ‘sh--’ is anything to be ashamed of. On the contrary... our mission is a noble one for, unlike The New York Times and our other competitors, we publish only the very best sh--.”

This journal’s Art Director, Alfred Bourdot, poses a rhetorical question. “Does anyone really give a sh--? Nobody reads anymore, so what difference does it make? Even if we were in the business of making waves, nothing we’ve published has produced the slightest ripple except, maybe, that piece on ‘toilet art’ which upset a few cowardly advertisers and the handful of unbalanced readers who bombard us with hate-mail…. Perhaps if we published details on how to make a portable nuclear device we’d cause a stir, but other than that, forget it. This entire column is utterly absurd!”

We will let M. Bourdot have the last word on the subject since we’ve exceeded our word-count and run out of sh--.


Wednesday, March 12, 2008

If the Stink "Stinks," Northampton Flunks


NORTHAMPTON, Mass. - A "Stink Squad" of trained noses has been employed to root out Northampton's landfill odors. The city has hired specially trained stink-sniffers to help determine whether the dump is too pungent for neighboring homeowners to stand.

Northampton officials signed a $25,000,000 contract with an Agawam environmental company, Skunkbusters, Ltd., after state officials ordered independent sniffing of landfill odors. Using little more than their own noses and a reference guide (Everyman’s Encyclopedia of Foul Odors: Third Edition), the Stink Squad members will detect and rate the strength of landfill gases, rotting flesh, and other common unpleasantries. Ratings are ranked on a scale of 1 to 8, as follows:


1. Mildly nauseating, but bearable 2. Rather foul, open the windows 3. Distinctly noxious 4. Who died? 5. Gross me out! 6. Beyond repulsive 7. Are those your socks? 8. Are there any barf bags left?


Each sniffer holds an advanced degree in Stenchonomics, and must judge the smells against a “shit kit” they carry featuring ready-to-sniff odors of various intensities, e.g., elephant feces, frog vomit, cadaver gas; etc.

If the Stink Squad assigns a rating +4 on their scale, the city could be fined or ordered to make changes. A rating of 8 will require that Northampton be bulldozed.


Monday, March 10, 2008

Le Scatman Cometh



Meet Maurice. Maurice P. Turdot, II to you. To us, he’s “Stinky Le Scatman,” our loveable little mascot—resurrected from piles of detritus in the editorial cellar. Surely he’s a sight for sore eyes, if not a sniff for sore nostrils. True to form, “Stinky” paused for an ever-so-brief “stop-and-squat” with the editors before dashing off on his rounds.

M. Turdot, of course, is always on the runs; a man of distinction, a man with a mission—scampering hither and thither, dashing east, dashing west, always on the go, and then he’s gone.

His motto: “Merde happens!”

Le Scat Noir
is proud to have him back on this page, so long as he keeps his distance. So don’t be surprised when he suddenly appears. No need to extend your hand in friendship, just tip your hat and flash a shit-eating grin.