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Everywhere But Home

News and musings from wherever my crazy life takes me. My body may be back in Illinois, but at least for now, my mind is still in Mongolia.

Everything I Know Is Wrong: The Story of My Music Lessons

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In my last post, I included several pictures of traditional Mongolian instruments. There are many, and unfortunately I don’t know enough about them for Wikipedia to be of much help in naming them. There’s the ятга, which is held leaning up against the body so that it’s partially on one’s lap, and plucked; there’s the ёчинwhich is like a piano without a keyboard – you hit the strings with mallets as you would the bars of a xylophone. There are pan-pipes and flutes and a stringed instrument you strum like a guitar. But most notably, there’s the morin huur.

The morin huur, which my word processor keeps trying to turn into ‘moron’ huur, hyuk hyuk, is the most famous of the Mongolian instruments, and it seems to be the one most strongly associated with traditional music. No surprises there; it’s an instrument whose bow and strings are both traditionally made of horse tailhair, with a carving of a horse’s head atop the neck, where the scroll would be on a cello. Small wonder that it resonates with a people whose ancestors were, or whose relatives still are, nomadic herders.

A Mongolian “orchestra” uses all of these instruments to create music quite unlike the classical compositions to which we Westerners are accustomed. I’m not always a huge fan of the singing that often accompanies it (that will have to be the subject of a different post), but I love the instrumental music. It’s dynamic; it’s compelling; it speaks of open spaces and open skies, of people on the move and hoofbeats across the steppe.

(The video above, assuming it embeds properly, is a quick taste; for something a little more extensive, check out this concert. Long, but well worth the time.)

I was in the orchestra from fourth to twelfth grade, so learning to play a Mongolian instrument was high on the list of things I hoped to accomplish during my time here.  And since I’m a horsewoman who played violin for eight years, my choice of instruments was obvious.

I’ve only had a handful of lessons so far, but let me state the obvious: morin huur is hard. Beginners at any instrument usually spend their first few months sounding as though they’re strangling a cat, and this seems to be no exception. To make things harder, my teacher knows about as much English as I do Russian: he can say yes and no, hello and goodbye, good and bad – and that’s about it. I’m still working on the most basic mechanics of playing, and I can’t understand when he says to sit up straighter, or to tilt the huur more, or to press harder or softer, or not to drop my elbow on the downbow stroke. These are all things he can demonstrate, but it takes time to reposition my grip or show me whether we’re playing the scale with a ta ti-ti or ti-ti ta (elementary school music class, anyone?) pattern this time. Thank heavens he’s so patient with me. There’s a whole list of words I need to learn from him: half/quarter/eighth note, bow, string, and so on. I learned flat (би моль), sharp (диез), downbow (татах, which also means pull and smoke, if I’m not mistaken), and upbow (түлхэх, which I think is also push), but those are only the tip of the iceberg.

At least I can read music, so I’m not starting completely from square one. The lowest note on a morin huur is an F, one note below the lowest on a violin, so the range is one I’m mostly familiar with, and I can read the signs for up- and downbow as motions, rather than having to search for the word in an unfamiliar language.

But that’s the only way in which violin has helped me so far. In most ways, it’s actually a hindrance; I get lulled into a false sense of familiarity and revert to what I know instead of what I’m supposed to be learning. I default to the wrong hand position, the wrong assumptions about which strings produce which notes. Everything I know is wrong.

For instance: you create pitches by pressing your fingers sideways against the string instead of curling them over and pressing down. That finger position where your main knuckle is bent but one closest to your fingertip is locked, the one you are absolutely not supposed to do with your left hand when playing violin? Apparently it’s much easier to do by accident than on purpose.

For instance: I’m used to the lower strings being on the right. Which they would be, if I was holding the huur as I would a violin. But you old it on your lap, facing away from you, which puts the lower strings on the left. Had I played the cello, this wouldn’t be nearly so confusing. But I didn’t play the cello. I played the violin.

For instance: the notes of the lowest major scale you can play on a morin huur are called fa, soe (like ‘soy’ with an elongated diphthong), ya, si, do, re, and mi, in that order. Sounds familiar, right? It sounds like solfège. But it’s not, or at least, not quite. Solfège as I know it is moveable, and a major scale starts on do; that’s just how it works. Thus, in the key of D, do is D; in the key of F, it’s F.

A quick perusal of the dictionary informs me that I’m used to the “moveable do” or “tonic sol-fa” system, whereas the Mongolians use the “fixed do” system, in which each pitch takes the name it would have in the key of C. This means that fa is the pitch I know as F, which is convenient and easy to remember. But do is C, not D, and that never fails to throw me for a loop.

If this goes over your head, I apologize; frankly, a lot of it goes over my head too. I’ve never taken a class in music theory, so my knowledge is limited to what you really can’t miss after eight years in an orchestra. I know what a fifth is, and I know the difference between natural, harmonic, and melodic minor scales. I don’t know the relative minor of each major key off the top of my head, but I know the pattern well enough to work it out pretty quickly. I can say, “What do you call two violas playing in unison? A minor second,” and then explain why it’s funny, and why it’s mean. (Viola jokes – sure sign of an orch dork right there.)

But I am not very well-versed in solfège, for the simple reason that I never had much occasion to use it. Singers use it all the time; violinists, not so much (unless they do a lot of transposition – my skills at which, unsurprisingly, are abysmal). So I’m sort of glad that this isn’t the solfège I know, because I don’t really “know” it, even in English. But it’s a different system with the same names, and that causes all manner of confusion.

Thus, I spend a good part of my lessons struggling to remember that the second note of the scale is not re, but soe; re is what I would think of as la, and what I want to call sol is now do. Holy interference, Batman! And when I’m not mixing up the names of the notes, I’m fumbling at the finger positions and placements and failing to keep my elbows in the right places. My lessons are, in short, a train wreck.

I’m struggling to come up with the right terms for this disaster; if I were learning a new language, I’d call it L1 interference, but I’m not. Music is supposed to be a universal language, right? Right? And yet it’s not; we think about it and write it in culturally dependent ways, and it’s really hard to retrain your brain when things so much more similar than they actually are. My subconscious keeps insisting that the term I want is “cognitive dissonance,” but that’s probably me misremembering terms from cognitive psych, since I’ve suppressed most of the memories of that class anyway.

Perhaps comparisons will serve me better: it’s like a ballerina trying to do hip hop, a Lindy hopper trying to do West Coast, a potter trying to knead bread. The instincts and muscle memory are there, trying hard to take over – but they’re all wrong. Between the confusion and the inept squawking, I usually leave with a headache.

But I’ve only had five lessons so far, and I’m not about to give up. Maybe after another fifty or so, this will all start to make sense.

Author: everywherebuthome

Linguist. Fulbright English Teaching Assistant. Expat in Mongolia. Writer. Scout, dancer, gymnast, equestrienne.

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The Played Game Roundup

January 20, 2010

So, in an effort to remove some tension and stay away from the horribly serious topics for a while, I thought it would be a good time to go over some of the games that have crossed my path lately.  I’ve actually been in a bunch of different games from all different genres, so I might as well take some time and tell you about some of them.  You might even want to pick a few up for further inspection!

Burnout: Paradise — When Paradise was released, I really gave it a hard time.  It took such a different path from the other Burnout games, and it removed some of my favorite features, like impact time and revenge rules.  It also offered a really large open world, which was great until I found out that when you fail a race, you have to drive back across Paradise City to try it again.  That sucks.

However, after picking it up for my PC for the awesome price of 7.50 during the Steam Holiday Sale, I must say that I’m really enjoying it more than a 7.50 game.  The open world of Paradise City is actually a lot of fun, especially when you know it well enough to make your own paths and use shortcuts to your advantage.  Some of the jumps and stunts that I’ve done have been simply breathtaking, plus it’s always a good time when you get behind the wheel to completely ruin your opponents.

Shattered Horizon — Another game that came into my possession during the Steam Holiday Sale, Shattered Horizon is Futuremark’s first foray into actually making games instead of making stupidly complex benchmark programs.  And, of course, when a game comes from Futuremark, you know it’s going to take hardware to the extreme.

Shattered Horizon only runs in DirectX10 mode, so it’s good for me that I have a system that can handle it.  The game is essentially Counter-Strike with a major twist: You’re in space, stuck in in the aftermath of a major lunar calamity.  A lunar mining corporation placed a charge on an unstable piece of the moon, shattering it and sending shards of rock all over Earth’s atmosphere.  Earth can’t launch manned shuttles up to save the stranded miners and lunar police due to the debris, but they did send up weapons and supplies just before the debris shrouded the planet.  Thank God they sent guns instead of food, right?  Otherwise this game would be crazy boring.

The game lets you fight in zero-g with a single gun that acts as multiple guns, like every good lunar walker should have.  You can stand on ceilings and use your jetpack to fly around with ease, all to confuse and scare your enemy.  Even cooler, you can turn off your suit’s electronics to avoid detection from other players, but you lose your targeting systems, you move at the speed of molasses, and you have no sound simulation.  All you can hear is the sound of your own breath and heartbeat while you float in space… and that’s a scary, scary feeling.

I have mixed feelings on this game.  It’s done well, but it doesn’t exactly keep inviting you back for more.  It’s fun to pick up and play a round or two, but then you just end up walking away feeling… meh.  Although, with inventive design like this, I’d like to see Futuremark’s next entry.

Bayonetta: I’ll keep this very brief.  Gameplay = One of the best action titles I’ve ever played.  Ever.  It moves like a dream.  A seamless dream.  Storyline = I wish she’d shut up and stop making me cringe.  Less stripper talk and slutty poses, more shooting.  K thx.

Global Agenda: It’s Team Fortress 2, only in the future and with customizable classes.  Score.  I like being able to pick different weapons to customize my loadout for each mission, and I like being able to tweak the skills of my character via a talent tree to make me good at the stuff I like to do, and not so good at the stuff I’m not a fan of.

Darksiders: I honestly expected God of War, and what I got was an open world brawler game.  That really opened up the game for me, and so far things are quite enjoyable in the little bit I’ve gotten to play.  I’m not a fan of the one button weapon combos, but I do like that I can switch weapons as easily as jamming another button on my controller.

And that’s pretty much it.  So readers, what have you been wrapping your hands around recently?

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Press Releases Archive   Search Press Releases
Press Release

F5 Solution Accelerates SAP Applications at World-Class Research University

Pohang University of Science and Technology uses F5's BIG-IP solution to increase staff efficiency and protect sensitive student information; Consolidation of network functionality reduces management overhead and capital costs

F5 Networks, Inc. (NASDAQ: FFIV), the global leader in Application Delivery Networking, today announced that Korea's leading research university, Pohang University of Science and Technology (POSTECH), has chosen to optimize its application delivery infrastructure by implementing an F5® Application Delivery Network.

POSTECH's previous set of point solutions no longer met its needs, and the institution was looking for an intelligent, adaptable system to secure and optimize application delivery. The university also wanted to improve provisioning and configuration management efficiency.

POSTECH selected the F5 BIG-IP® Local Traffic Manager (LTM) with Application Security Manager solution. As a result of implementing F5 technology, POSTECH is able to deliver its SAP applications, web mail, and website with the high levels of speed, availability, and security required by a world-class university. In addition, POSTECH networking professionals are able to manage, secure, and optimize SAP applications in the most efficient manner with the help of F5's Application Ready Network (ARN) best-practice deployment and operations guidelines.

"BIG-IP LTM has helped to ensure high availability, load balancing, and accelerated application delivery at POSTECH," said Ki-jong Kim, IT Department Manager at POSTECH. "We are now able to operate our existing application servers in a stable, secure, and efficient manner." Other specific benefits include:

  • Simplified administration and lower operational costs
  • 98% fewer server-side TCP connections, enabling server consolidation and reducing CapEx
  • Increased SAP ERP application availability and scalability
  • Enhanced security for SAP login and personal information page updates via SSL

"F5's ARN guidelines and best practices have undergone rigorous testing and validation to ensure that large institutions like POSTECH are getting the most out of their SAP environments," said Jason Needham, Sr. Director of Product Management at F5. "F5's powerful combination of advanced technology and well-documented best practices has significantly enhanced POSTECH's application delivery infrastructure, enabling it to optimize application security, performance, and efficiency."

POSTECH is currently using the BIG-IP solution for L7 switching functionality, SSL acceleration, application health checking, network firewall, web application firewall, web acceleration, and customizable iRules® capabilities. The institution is also planning to deploy additional security devices, such as an SSL VPN appliance to protect against growing security/access threats, and QoS technology to ensure reliable application and network availability.

POSTECH strives to continue growing into a world-class research university, specializing in core areas of science and technology. POSTECH maintains and fosters its distinction as a research university of intensive education for a small but select group of students, maintaining its qualitative excellence in education and research. POSTECH's goals are to focus on two to three core areas of research, produce creative and progressive leaders in science and technology, and contribute to Korea's national economic development through close cooperation with industries. For more information, visit

About F5 Networks

F5 Networks is the global leader in Application Delivery Networking. F5 provides solutions that make applications secure, fast, and available for everyone. By adding intelligence and manageability into the network to offload applications and optimize the data storage layer, F5 extends the power of intelligent networking to all levels of application delivery. F5's extensible architecture intelligently integrates application optimization, protects the application and the network, and delivers application reliability. Over 16,000 organizations and service providers worldwide trust F5 to keep their applications running. The company is headquartered in Seattle, Washington with offices worldwide. For more information, go to

About F5

F5 (NASDAQ: FFIV) provides solutions for an application world. F5 helps organizations seamlessly scale cloud, data center, and software defined networking (SDN) deployments to successfully deliver applications to anyone, anywhere, at any time. F5 solutions broaden the reach of IT through an open, extensible framework and a rich partner ecosystem of leading technology and data center orchestration vendors. This approach lets customers pursue the infrastructure model that best fits their needs over time. The world’s largest businesses, service providers, government entities, and consumer brands rely on F5 to stay ahead of cloud, security, and mobility trends. For more information, go to .

You can also follow @f5networks on Twitter or visit us on Facebook for more information about F5, its partners, and technologies.

F5, BIG-IP, Access Policy Manager, Global Traffic Manager, and Software Defined Application Services are trademarks or service marks of F5 Networks, Inc., in the U.S. and other countries. All other product and company names herein may be trademarks of their respective owners.

# # #

This press release may contain forward looking statements relating to future events or future financial performance that involve risks and uncertainties. Such statements can be identified by terminology such as "may," "will," "should," "expects," "plans," "anticipates," "believes," "estimates," "predicts," "potential," or "continue," or the negative of such terms or comparable terms. These statements are only predictions and actual results could differ materially from those anticipated in these statements based upon a number of factors including those identified in the company's filings with the SEC.


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Two weeks ago I was in a service at Hillsongs, Dominion Theatre and the Pastor was talking about our attitude to the house of God and how it determines the way we behave in and outside it.

He started by saying that “Jesus came as He did, so we can come as we are”. He explained that by today’s standards, Jesus entrance was controversial. Agreed? So His mother ‘immaculately conceived’ Him, and just when we thought this holy seed would be born in the best hospital, with the best doctors around at the time, he had to go get born in a manger! On hay! The King of Kings, ruler of the entire universe, born where donkeys sleep?

But it was for a purpose. Being born under those circumstances means that regardless of where your life is at the moment, His door is open, wide open, and you can come just as you are. Hallelujah!

Ok, back to the house. When you go to a hotel (and I love sleeping in hotels, the more luxurious the better), you can afford to throw the used towels about, not make your bed, leave plates in the room or by the door, pretty much do as you please. Right?

That’s because you know that soon as you go out and come back, the place would have been returned to pristine condition, ready for you to wreck again.

When you’re a guest at a ceremony (wedding, christening, graduation, whatever) you come dressed nicely expecting to be served. The most some of us expect to do is walk to the buffet table and help ourselves to the food. We may bring a gift (or not) but again, we have no responsibility whatsoever. Right?

When you’re at your home though, you cook. You clean, you mow the lawn, and you tend the garden. You run errands for your parents/guardians; and if you’ve got siblings you cater to them as well. In return your mother doesn’t hang you out on the clothesline! Lol! Seriously though, in return you partake of the ‘blessings of the house’. You have a family you love who love you back, a place to sleep, your needs taken care of, etc. You accept them, you have emotional, spiritual, and financial support when you need it, the works!

Same thing with the house of God. If we approach it like were attending a ceremony, or laying over at a hotel, we won’t fully partake of the blessings God has people who have made camp in. Remember Psalm 91:1. It says he that “dwelleth”, not visiteth, droppeth in, or stoppeth by  for a bit under the shadow of the Almighty (ignore the spellings, focus on the message *smile*).

Bottom line my darling people, get involved! Go all in! How can you serve? How can you add to the service? What team in the throne of God will be blessed by your gift?

Think about it, and enjoy the end of a super productive week!

  1. Love what you said…”in return you partake of the ‘blessings of the house’. This is so true, we must have unity to bring the blessings of the Lord in His house! The house being His Church…for we are “living stones”, we are meant to be joined together in a common goal…to bless Him in His house! Good word here…bless you!

  2. Bless you too Zoey!!!

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Posts Tagged ‘Danila vassilief’

February 27, 2008

This masthead is a picture my mother painted in the early 1950’s. It was done at Boat Barbour (Now called Bateau Bay) just north of Sydney, where we went for those fantastic holiday holidays just after the war.

Mum has painted her sister, Joan, leading little Anna by the hand (she’s my sister) as they approach the gate to the beach.

Here’s Mum’s picture full size.

Ellen Rubbo. Bateau bay.

Here’s My Uncle, Francis Sutton, also at Boat Harbour round about the same time. Francis has the painting now. He was married to Joan. She left it to him when she died. I’m glad he has it.

1. Art in our lives.

2. A theory about how and why.

3. Stories from van Gogh.

5. Antonio Dattilo Rubbo, the teacher and bohemian.

6. Kiffie Rubbo, the curator

7. Francis Ellis, devoted protege

8 James Wigley

9. John Percival

10 Danila Vassilief.

11. Ellen Rubbo.

12. Francis Sutton.

13. Norman Lloyd.

14. Katerina Korolkevich Rubbo

15. Mike Rubbo

4.This is an experiment. I’ve teamed up with the Manly Art Gallery to encourage people, you perhaps, to create an art blog or an art scrapbook, a record of the art in your life.

We call it, Family Art Stories, FAS for short. There’s a reason why I feel this is a very good thing to do. But more of that later.

First, to see how a FAS blog actually feels, I’m trying it myself, here.

Mum’s painting and Boat Harbour itself are good places to start.

Our best family holidays were there. If we were lucky, we youngsters were allowed to ride the flying fox down the cliff to the camp, a cozy cluster of huts, huddled against the sea like a kid crouching behind a dune.

The camp was right on the beach with just a sheltering fence and a great shade tree in between it and the bay.

June Gordon was at least ten years older than me when this photo was taken.

Still, I think I had romantic thoughts about her. Some distant bell of memory, rings.

And why not, so sweet she is. Ah, old fashioned girls in old fashioned cozzies!

I do remember clearly going through that gate, dashing down the burning sand, and plunging into the warm turquoise water.

I remember the small fat man always sitting just outside the gate.

That was Percy Usher, round and brown as a berry, happy under the shade tree, dreaming the days away beside a tub shaped dingy, ready to rescue us if necessary.

Percy had come around Cape Horn on the Windjammers. He’d fallen from the mast one trip, they said, and got a great cut on his head. Sometimes he’d show us the scar.

Beyond the shade, in the sun’s glare, another Uncle, Pink, stands forever youthful.

His real name was Frank Gray, Pink being a nickname from childhood. He was was a great surgeon, Frank.

He died recently in his nineties. Ah, how fast life passes. How quickly things and people become ever so long ago.

Evelyn, his widow, is very kind. She’ll contribute greatly to the blog because she’s giving me three paintings by my mother that she has. That’ll be a thrill.

Pink was Mum’s brother.

We all know the power of photos to work like this, to tug at the heart through memory. But what about paintings?

Sadly, many Australians don’t go for paintings, not enthusiastically. They spend lot’s of money on cars , clothes, houses, and yet rarely anything on pictures. “What’s the point?” they’ve said to me.

When I was working for ABC TV as an executive producer, we made a documentary series on dysfunctional families. As I watched the rushes on these people, the screaming out-of-control kids, the desperate parents, I noticed that there was no art on the walls of those houses. Bare walls!

There was nothing to rest the eye, like here. Nothing to let you out of the tension.

Mike Rubbo. Sprinklers and rape seed in Finland.

I asked social workers if this was typical of such families. It was, they said. Did they think art on the walls of such families would make any difference, have a calming effect? They had no idea. No one had ever done a study of that, they said.

Recently, I began asking my older friends if they remembered what was on their walls as children.

I was astonished to find that many friends had the most vivid memories of some picture or other. A calming landscape, or something religious and scary, a portrait with a strange look perhaps, all were remembered. The paintings were not necessarily talked about, thought about, they said. They were just there always there, and being there, were somehow comforting.

Of course objects too can work the same way. Francis Sutton, that dear uncle of mine, had a little figure perched on his mantlepiece. Made of suede, it had come from London long ago, Baker st. he says. The little flute player is lost now but not forgotten.

My theory is that art in a home does make a difference besides being decorative and showing you have taste. It provides a quiet continuity and something else very often, lingering mystery. That’s why it’s remembered .

Paintings may be the same size as a TV screen, But they never change. A painting has no plot, no commercial breaks, and yet there is a story, clearly a story or one you make up.

Mike Rubbo. My Grandfather’s village, southern Italy., Pontelandolfo

I go further and suggest that, as today’s kids get bombarded with more and more audio visual material , ever quicker images, it’s possible that paintings which never move, never change, might be even more important than they once were.

Film makers in the cutting room hold shots for far less time on the screen than they did before. I know I’m one of them.A second or two tells the story these days.

Maybe it’s good, by contrast, to have an image which won’t change in 50 or 100 years, as a sort of balance.

I left this picture in Morin Heights, Quebec, where we used to cross country ski. It first hung in the general store, Beauty’s, and is now in the library, I’m told. It can be there forever, recalling we who once lived there.

Mike Rubbo. Beauty’s general store. Morin heights, Quebec.

But how to persuade people to test the power of slow images when they’re in the fast lane, and hanging paintings is just not something they do?

The story aspect helps. We are all addicted to stories, are we not? If I stress the fact that story is a large part of art, this may be a way into art for some people who other wise don’t get it..

The painter’s story. The picture’s story. Where’s that village? Where does the road go? I know. I painted this scene. I could tell you

Mike Rubbo. Spring, Laurentians.

I’ve always been drawn to the story aspect of art. Maybe that’s because I’m part painter, part film maker.

I once made a film for kids about van Gogh called, Vincent and Me. It was created with the help of my Producer and Friend, Rock Demers, head of La Fete in Montreal.

Rock had the vision to see that you could make films for young people which did not stick to the usual plots. His series was called Tales for All.

While I put many of Vincent’s most wonderful paintings up on the screen in that movie, I went to some trouble to tell his story too. I knew his touching story added to his art and the fascination he arouses.

Here’s the actor playing Vincent with one of the most famous van Gogh paintings, the blue cart .

Copies like this blue cart which I needed for the film, ( the was no chance to use the originals of course) were painted in a dingy Montreal basement over many months, long before production began.

Here I am in Dorothy’s basement, working on Vincent’s fishing boats. It’s 3 am.

I was in a rush. I had to fill the room in the Yellow House where van Gogh lived his summer in Arles.

My copying, a perfectly legal thing to do, (Vincent himself copied copiously) became a story in itself when the film was released

I found it was also a good story to tell the kids, those who auditioned for the main parts. I told how them how I’d copied the paintings all alone, late at night, and how spooky that was.

I told them I’d had the feeling that Vincent was at my shoulder and that if he didn’t want me to make the film, he’d make sure the copies were bad.

I wonder if I ever told this to Rock? He may not have been amused by my superstition , especially since he had several million dollars riding on Vincent and Me.

You know what? I believed this myself, at least partly. Here’s one of the copies.

Green Corn, after Vincent van Gogh. Mike Rubbo

If you click here, you can see a clip from this film

In a way, I don’t help my case by telling this story because it gives the impression that what we propose, This Family Art Stories idea, is mostly for people who make art, as I do.

Not true at all. We are hoping, the Manly Art gallery and I, that this will appeal to people who may have little art in their lives right now, and for whom collecting pictures or sculptures would represent a very new path.

Tell people the story and often you show them the way to the painting or the articfact, reinforcing their reaction to the image. Get them digging out stories and you give them art which has a special meaning for them

When I do a picture, usually painted pleine aire, I write all the details about the day and place on the back.

If I’m painting it for somebody, I photograph the new owners with their picture, like this couple.

I just liked their classic fibro beach cottage which is near where I live. I painted it and gave them the painting. You can see they were quite surprised. I’m sure the story’s still told.

The fibro on Avoca drive. Mike rubbo

We originally conceived Family Art Stories, FAS for short, as based on a coffee table scrap book which everyone in the family would help create.

Inside this handsome book blank paged book would go photos of paintings now owned, notes on the artists one has been able to find, stories of how and where the pictures was given or bought.

The couple, above, if they had such a book would have included my photo of course and maybe some notes about why I like fibro beach houses, and how sad I am that they’re all being pulled down.

This scrap book would be very much about provenance, a very important concept in the art world, meaning where something comes from in every sense of the word.

Now, I’m thinking that, since it’s so easy to start a blog such as this, (they say you can do it in five minutes, and it’s free) that maybe FAS blogs are probably an exciting alternative to the coffee table book.

If that’s so and the idea takes off , each art blog could be called:www. family art stories/ name of family.com

This would mean that this blog collection could become a searchable archive of art and family life, one which might grow to be a true testing of the theory that art adds a lot to families.

If you like challenges, take some photos, grab some memorabilia, and put it all together on a wordpress blog like this one.

WordPress boasts blogging is easy peazy, and you should be blogging half an hour after you’ve googled the name, wordpress. If you do take the challenge, let me know how it goes.

Back to my experiment with this FAS blog.

There is so much to tell about what was on our own walls in Melbourne when growing up.

My Mum was shy about her work and never paintings her works on our walls that I remember, though there may have been these framed photos of her as doing modern experimental dance.

Is that really my Mum on her knees?

This one I didn’t doubt.

Ellen Rubbo in the middle.

There was another artist in the family as well as Mum and he got hung. This was my Grandfather, Antonio Dattilo Rubbo .

Antonio Dattilo-Rubbo was a colorful Italian, later made a Caviliere, which is a sort of Count. Rubbo emigrated from Southern Italy, the Naples region, in the 1890’s to set himself up as a teacher and painter in Sydney.

He became quite famous not so much as a painter, though he painted a great deal, especially portraits, but as a teacher. Many of our Australian greats, painters like Grace Cossington Smith, Roland Wakelyn, Roy DeMaistre , Donald Friend, and Lloyd Rees, all were his pupils.

Here’s Grandfather’s self portrait. It does double duty for this page because it’s also a painting which hung on our walls when I was young, and is one of my earliest memories of art that meant something to me.

Self portrait. Antonio Dattlilo Rubbo.

Even as a kid I picked up on the free, sketchy, quality of this portrait, thinking that was bold of him.

Unlike my brother, Mark, I liked it better than another portrait of Nonno’s (That’s Italian for Grandfather) we owned, an accomplished head of a pensive woman which was a somehow a bit stiff for me.

Here’s the young woman my eyes passed over in favor of Nonno’s self portrait. Yet when I see her now, I realize that some of my deep down ideas about people keeping their own counsel, about being private, may come from this painting. It had more impact than I imagined!

Unknown woman. Antonio Dattilo Rubbo

Mark Rubbo, the bookseller. He thinks my memory is faulty.

He’s sure that our Sister, Kiffie Rubbo, found this painting of the pensive woman long after I’d left home.

Kiffie died tragically young but not before she’d become a major force in the Australian art world. Daring, playful, and profound, she excited everyone.

Her story will be told in another post.

I used to look at Nonno’s self portrait often, thinking about him emigrating out here when there were no foreigners in Australia to speak of. It seemed very brave of him. He sang opera and fought duels too.

I liked also the explanation he gave me of how he chose Australia. He told me that a ship load of beautiful women, strapping Amazons, had stopped in Naples on it’s way from Australia to Europe. He and his friends had never seen such creatures before, such assurance, such glowing good health, and they decided then and there that Australia was calling them.

Another version has him running from a marriage promise. I think maybe he was actually imported by a rich family as a tutor. He did end up with the Mort family (very wealthy folks) as tutor to their daughter, Eirene Mort, on his very first night ashore. How was that possible if not arranged ahead of time, especially since he spoke no English?

Soon, Rubbo seems to have captured Sydney. He has an apartment downtown at a time no one actually lived in the city. He’s on all the important committees. He’s advising the Government on art education, and is even writing letters to the paper on city trams, newfangled transportation which he finds too drab, and which he advises be daubed in the colors of the Mediterranean.

He ‘s constantly in the press too, photos as well as comment. This is a treasure, a scrap of newspaper, falling apart , which came to me some how.

It shows Nonno in his studio.

He loved painting his two boys. My Father, Syd who became a famous scientist and the younger, Mark, who died of Menengitis at 15. This tragedy devastated Nonno and came to kill his wife, Mildred.

I think Syd is probably the robust scout and Mark the wistful figure in the foreground of the second painting.

The Scout, Antonio Dattilo Rubbo

Antonio Dattilo Rubbo. Title unknown.

Three years ago, I was visiting the Northern Beaches artist, Pamela Thalben Ball. I knew her mother had been a student of my Grandfather’s. I hoped for some stories.

Pamela feared she had nothing much to give me, and was worried I’d come so far on a wild goose chase. For, apart from a small dark Rubbo canvas, she had nothing to show or tell.

But then, as she opened a cupboard, out fell a postcard dated, 1911. She claimed she’d never seen it before, and had no idea why it was in the drawer.

It was addressed to her mother, the prize student and was from her teacher, Antonio Dattilo-Rubbo, showing off his wife, Mildred, and new son, my father.

In 2007, Pamela had a show at the Manly Art gallery. I was asked to open it. I told this story of the postcard and, without having thought it through before , launched into some remarks about the power of the stories in art , stories like this postcard apparition.

My audience was intrigued. That night the Family Art Stories idea was born.

Nonno died when I was twelve. I never saw him paint that I can remember

These two landscapes of his are another mystery. I don’t remember them from childhood. Indeed, I don’t know where they are, or even where I photographed them . A mystery to be solved by the blog.

If they had been on our walls, I would have wondered where they were painted. What’s that pile in the foreground of the first picture ? Wood chips? And yet there are no trees in sight. And the second, is that Sydney harbor behind the shack?

As a kid, I would not have known what I now know, that Dattilo Rubbo was probably the first to bring color prints of van Gogh to Australia, that he praised Vincent to his students and called Grace Cossington Smith, Mrs. van Gogh.

I see now a connection between this painting and some of van Gogh’s works from Arles, those painted late in that memorable summer spent with Gaugin

Antonio Dattilo Rubbo. Title unknown

The touch is different to be sure, But one can see how van Gogh (below) was freeing up my Nonno’s hand

Detail of painting by Vincent van Gogh

This picture (below) too, I know nothing about, and have no idea where this painting of his might be now.

Antonio Dattilo Rubbo. Title unknown.

Nonno painted his devoted protege, Frances Ellis. He’s painted her to look curious, a bit wary.

Will she take eventually over of his famous art school on Pitt st. or not? Was that the question?
Francis Ellis by Antonio Dattilo Rubbo

She painted him at peace, free to dream. Her portrait was exhibited at the Mostre D’Outtremare, Naples 1942.

This must have pleased them both, especially Nonno since it was in Naples that he’d studied art, 60 years before.

Francis Ellis. portrait of Antonio Dattilo Rubbo

Francis Ellis and Antonio Dattilo Rubbo

What happened to Francis Ellis, his loyal companion of late years and the keeper of the School? We know she went back to her native New Zealand when Nonno died in 1955.

She herself was gone in 1971, In the years between did she paint?

In the early nineties, a Sydney gallery held a show of recently discovered Dattilo Rubbo paintings. Nice as they were, they were not his according my sister Dr. Anna Rubbo, much to the fury of the gallery owner. Those who knew his work tended to agree.

My Sister the Architect, Anna Rubbo

Nonno loved to paint outside, pleine aire, as did van Gogh. He did so till quite old.

There is a figure of a man in the foreground of Roland Wakelyn’s famous painting, Down to Berry’s Bay. The man sits on the slope, painting, a folding easel in front of him. I’m convinced it’s our Nonno.

My grandfather helped found the Manly Art gallery which, as I mentioned, is behind this Family Art Stories initiative.

He lived in Manly in the early part of the 20th century and here painted the Corso, as it’s called, the curving parth which leads round to where the Gallery now stands.

The Corso, Manly. Antonio Dattilo Rubbo

There’s something I need to do for Nonno.

In Pontelandolfo, the small town he came from inland from Naples, lived Elda Rubbo, a distant relative. Nonno was in touch with her in the 40’s and sent her some paintings as well as many letters..

Elda died last year, 2007, and now I need to bring his pictures home. One is Sydney harbour, it might be a picnic. It’s been on Elda’s a wall in Italy for 60 years.

Antonio Dattilo Rubbo. Sydney scene.

The other is the portrait of an unknown man. Maybe we’ll find out who he is if we get him home.

Antonio Dattilo Rubbo. Title unknown

This retrieval may help me with some guilt I fell about Nonno. I’ve been a documentary film maker for 40 years. I could have made a film about him while his illustrious students were still alive and and were ready to speak so fondly of him.

I thought of it . I came close but put it off. Now, I think it’s too late. They’ve almost all gone, all except two I know of, Tony La Spina and the Sculptor, Tom Bass.

My second twinge comes from the fact it was not Nonno’s paintings which most fascinated me as a child. It was the two pictures which follow.

The first I know little about except that it was painted by James Wigley. The family art story blog will try to find out more. My brother, Mark, has sent me the website of James son, Julian. I’m going to find out more.

James Wigley. Title unknown

I loved the strangeness of this image. When very young, I was fascinated by the distortion of the massive legs on this seated man. Were they swollen? Had something bitten him? Later, I took on the idea that if I was to paint myself, strict realism was not everything, that these curved banana-like legs were superb.

This picture still haunts me and has always done so. Who was was he? What was his relationship with the Aborigines who drape themselves around the truck?

As I got older, I discovered a certain white arrogance in the image, the way the black people look to the painter questioningly, while the man on the truck feels no need to do so.

This 1948 Percival we had was my favorite image. For a time, John Percival, living not far from us at Eltham, liked to do Breughal -like paintings. Here he puts exotic Nuns with white head dresses in a Fitzroy street. I was fascinated.

John Percival. Nuns in Fitzroy ?

Our suburban lives seemed so tame. How often I thought of of going down into that street and dancing wildy too. More often I rode that suburban train out of the scene, catching just a glimpse of something weird going on below that I’d always miss. .

Why had the truck overturned, I also wondered? Was it because of the loose cow?

John Percival. Nuns in Fitzroy (detail)

As a family, we decided, sadly, to sell this picture. Agreeing, I none the less felt we could not bear to live without some record of this, our most special image. Do my brother and sister, Anna and Mark feel the same way? I don’t know.

I decided to make a copy as I’d done with van Gogh, being careful leave out Percival’s signature and to build in small differences as well.

Here I am hard at work at my brother Mark’s former house, keeping some Percival in the family. Mark does not paint. He’s Readings, the famous Melbourne bookseller.

And here’s my copy. No great, but not bad either.

Mike Rubbo. After John Percival’s Nuns in Fitzroy.

As I said, the original street with Nuns was painted in 1948. I was ten at the time and so this picture can’t be a memory from early childhood, but the Percival is the painting I remember best, and on which I dreamed the most.

I met John Percival, years before I did the copy . He was about 15 years older than me. He still looked like a naughty boy

John Percival self portrait 1947

Above all, I loved his boats at Wiliamstown.

John Percival. Yellow painted ship 1967.

There were painting everywhere in my childhood and there were encounters with artists who were friends of my parents. The most fascinating of these for a small boy was Danila Vassilief.

He was a white Russian who had fled the Bolshevik takeover of his country, come to Australia via the Carribean and, at the time we knew him, was building himself a stone house at Warrandyte, 30 miles from Melbourne.

It was rough hewn place built with rock blasted from the hillside, blending in like an animal lair.

It went up and up, level on level as Danila felt the urge.

He was iresistable to women with his strong face and his gentle voice.

When not painting sculpting or blasting, I think he was making love, though as a small boy I did not know what that was.

I listened to Saturday night radio dramas while they played noisily

I was there for the weekend sometimes, me Danila and his girl friends.. He was teaching me, that was the idea.

I remember he’d pick me up Friday nights from a bus at the Warrandyte shops and drive at breakneck speed through the night on the bush tracks to the house , headlights slicing the dark, dazzled rabbits hopping aside.

The car was a Citroen, a French police model. Like everything else with Danila it was strange , exciting…

But too posh for the house. It had a gearshift which Danila furiously pushed and pulled out of the dashboard, like he was punching the car. Sometimes I was allowed to work it. The house was pitch dark as we came up to it.

As we swung into Stonygrad’s home track, it later came to be called that when he married the communist, Betty, I’d glimpse something else any boy would find irresistable.

He had an old tram which sat on the land as a place to camp while he built his house of stone. It was not like this exactly, much more dilapidated, cupped in growth, but this gives the idea.

Stonygrad went up and up, floor by floor. I got the idea that he’d fill a floor with paintings, then, out of space, he would go up one more to get them out of sight, since none sold.The

The second floor then would fill and up he’ d go again. By the time I knew him, he was mostly into sculpture and was working on the roof, an undulating cement slab, stacked with stone and grinders.

Here, he sculpted his favorite stone, Lilydale marble, carving its curves with those screaming grinders. He made strange shapes like beautiful deformities, so soft to stroke, you’d never guess how hard they’d been worked

Danila Vassilief Yankee Caesar 1951

Meanwhile I, a timid kid, made a dog’s head as realistically and undeformed as I could.

Mike Rubbo Dog’s head. 1948

I’m not surprised to find myself in a small group class, looking very neat and proper.

And alone. Me at the back.

Truth be told, I was a bit worried about Danila. I might have come to him because my parents put me in an experimental school on the opposite hill, Koonong. Classes were held outside on logs and I had to bathe naked with girls, which I hated.

I was both repelled and fascinated by his art. If it did hang on our walls at home, I’ve shut it out of my mind.

Danila Vassilief. Woman driving posh car. 1955,

They were as strong and wild as he was,

Danila Vassilief. Alec and Joan 1944

I guess this is the fatal flaw in my thesis about calming art. And yet, I would say that I came to like Danila’s work through his story in the sense that the man was so genuine, so sincere, so kind to a conformist child like me, that his story led me.

And I do remember the painting of his we had on our walls and when we sold it, a bit strapped for cash, I copied that one too. I hope you don’t mind, Danila.

Most of the above photos come from Felicity St. John Moore’s great book, Vassilief and his art.

30 year later when both Danila and Betty who inherited the house were dead, I went back to Stonygrad.

From the outside, the tin roof covering the whole pile was remarkable.

The big windows seemed new. The sunflowers were gone, the lowest floor had light.

I can be sure of the date because my son, Nicolas, was there and looks to be about 3. He’s now 33.

I talked my way inside and took photos that showed that the amazing building skill of this man, he did it alone, lived on.

The furniture was much more up market .

Down that grotto stair had been the under regions, full of dusty paintings and sculptures. Only the palest of light penetrated there, for the lower windows, all odd shaped glass , were completely covered with rampant sunflowers which around crowded outside.

Below this bookcase was my corner where I listened to the radio plays.

It’s changed hardly at all I see from this old photo.

I did some painting as a teenager, but without much conviction.

Mike Rubbo. Student leader 1957

I wanted to be wild and free but it did not feel right.

Mike Rubbo. Opolet. 1958

Like this Indonesian Opolet driver, I was looking over my shoulder.

When I did come to do some solid painting much later in life, it was towards Percival that I turned, and also back towards van Gogh.

I love the energy in Vincent’s paintings, swirling energy , almost as if he was able to see force fields around things and turn them into paint. He’s far less wild than Danila. it’s a controlled wildness with Vincent.

This is the path to the beach at Avoca where we live. Paths, with their promise of going somewhere, always fascinate me in paintings

Mike Rubbo. The path to the Beach. Avoca.

The bench, here, was erected in memory of someone who loved to sit on that spot. I have the name written down

Mike Rubbo. The path To the Beach, Avoca, (detail)

This boat, painted in a boat graveyard in Finland, came at the end of a very creative Finnish love affair.

Mike Rubbo. Old Boat Helsinki

There was an air of decay about the place, also mystery, and a certain sadness for most of these boats would not sail again

I stayed in the boat graveyard a week, my boats looking sadder and sadder.

Mike Rubbo. sad Boat, Helsinki (detail)

The painting below shows a garage sale on an Avoca street. There’s a story to tell about this image too. I’d heard the owners were going to cut down a lot of the wild garden in front of their cottage. I rushed this painting through and then left a luscious color copy at their doorstep with a note.

“Congratulations, your beautiful garden has won first prize in our regional garden prize giving.” said the note. There was no such competition or prize . But the garden is still there, 4 years later.

Did you know that Monet reputedly saved a line of poplar trees by painting them. I was thinking of that at the time

Mike Rubbo. Garage sale. Avoca. It was a hot day for a garage sale.

Mike Rubbo. Garage Sale Avoca (detail)

I used to hang portraits of the locals in the Butcher’s shop.

Mike Rubbo Avoca Butchers. 2000

They were not for sale. Just to get people talking to each other. I expected there’d be a clamor to be painted and hung. There wasn’t.

Mike Rubbo Aoca Butchers 2000

Maybe they weren’t flattering enough

In the thirties, my Mum went to London as a commercial artist and stayed in a rather bohemian rooming house in Swiss Cottage. 16 Avenue rd. was run by Norman and Edith LLoyd, both expat. Australians.

Norman Lloyd was/is an Australian artist who’s now arousing interest. Little is known about him and yet he left many excellent paintings when he died in London in 1985. Those who search have yet to even find a photograph of Norman Lloyd, prolific painter.

My Uncle Francis stayed in Lloyd house too, reporting that the boarders all ate round a huge table, that there was a butler in uniform and that the conversation, with war looming, was hot.

My blog is developing detective powers of it’s own. Unbidden, Francis finds a small water color he’d done from his window of the Lloyd house , looking out onto the winter garden. The paper’s falling apart. There are tears and holes, but it’s superb!

Mum had a room in the front of the house. She’d painted it yellow after van Gogh and had a wind up gramaphone for parties. My father moved in and they fell in love.

Charming Syd was a Rubbo but not a Dattilo Rubbo. He’d dropped the Dattilo prefix perhaps to show he was not a man of art like Nonno, but of science.

Norman’ s paintings hung all over the house, even up and down the stairs. He sold them off the walls, according to Francis. Will we ever find a photo of the man?

Norman Lloyd Title unknown.

Many of Mum’s works are lost or dispersed. This market scene is typical of her quick, sketchy work. I’ve no idea where it is.

Ellen has not had her due. You can see a certain swing to her figures which came from her fashion work and never left her art.

Ellen Rubbo. Fijian market

Mum died in 1976. Here, she’s in happy times before the 2nd WW war, throwing snowballs at my Dad, Syd. I think they’re on Hampstead Heath. I may be in her belly.

No there is another artist in the family, the Russian interpreter/teacher who, taking every sort of risk, chose me for a husband and created another Ellen for a daughter.

She is Katerina Korolkevich Rubbo and she joins us in painting too, on silk, clay and paper

Katerina Korokevich Rubbo. The beach, silk

Katerina Korolkevich Rubbo. Gevillia, silk

Katerina Korolkevich Rubbo. Luboc designs, for a childrens book of ryhmes, paper

Katerina Korolkencich Rubbo, another for the book of Rhymes in Russian and English

Us together, Ellen doing her own thing elsewhere as usual.

Katerina Kolokevich Rubbo Serving plate.

The more usual me. Life through a camera.


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Hot punch

I know it’s too early to start planning a Halloween party but my friend Chuckles and I were looking through the File o Fun this weekend and I started getting excited. The File o Fun is a card file of activities that Chuckles found at her work, and it has all sort of suggestions for making parties and dances less boring. There are games like Potato Knockout and Lemon Dance, skits to perform, suggestions for a really good blindfold, and instructions about when you should and should not award prizes at your party. The File o Fun seems like something Amy Sedaris would own and use often, much to the chagrin of her friends. Our version is from 1970 but it looks like there is a newer edition available on Amazon.

Something I didn’t notice before this weekend in the File of Fun was the section devoted to “detailed party plans.” These plans fold out into full-sized pieces of paper, and while most of them look good enough to print onto a t-shirt, there is one that stands out – the Halloween Family Night.

Yes, that may be clown makeup there on the bottom. We’re not talking about that – let’s look at the actual activities.

Peanut Lag! Apple Biting! Jail! And then there’s the Danger Corner:

This party sounds awesome. As soon as I determine what the Peanut Lag is, I’m going to try to put this shindig together. Google isn’t helping me and the File o Fun doesn’t have a master table of contents, so it may take me until October to figure this out.

Where the men are at tip-off

Nobody’s invited me to a Superbowl party yet. Maybe my reputation as someone who shushes people during the commercials and searches for an alternate TV on which to tune in the Puppy Bowl during slow moments has preceded me. That’s too bad. I’d be really good at a Superbowl party now that I’ve watched Katie and Katy from Just The Tips test out a faux football helmet facepaint suggestion found on the internet.

If you couldn’t already tell from that video, Katie and Katy are rather tremendous. Those amazing “life hacks” and incredible tutorials you find on lifestyle websites and Pinterest? Whether it’s glitter pumpkins, swants (remember swants? Sweater pants? No? Carry on), Kim Kardashian’s facial countouring, or A Dependable Stool, Katie will do it terribly with much enthusiasm and Katy will glumly knock it out of the park. They both can’t stand the concept of “life hacks.”

These women are incredible, and they should be famous. Watch five more of their videos now, please,* and then maybe invite me to your Superbowl party.

*Full disclosure: I have begged them and they have agreed to me being their personal assistant when they become famous. I CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS TO HAPPEN.

I don’t know, Helen. I’m pretty happy that Benny just called a cleaning crew instead.

Thanks, Rebecca Lynn!
Published in: on August 29, 2011 at 10:24 am  Leave a Comment
Tags: , , ,

An eye for patriotism

I know you’re probably already getting set to celebrate the day our northern neighbor got its independence united three British colonies into one British colony by getting out your toques and novelty hockey gear, but I’d like to propose that this year you might want to step up your look with a little extra glamor. Why not make this Canada Day one to remember?

I may have mentioned before that I am a bit of a slob, so I’m not normally a person you should look to for glamor tips, but I do have a friend named Miss Ziffel who is not only glamorous but also very generous with her beauty tips. Today Miss Ziffel is going to share her secret to beautiful eyelashes. Take it away, Miss Ziffel.

today I made my own false eyelashes out of MY HAIR!

1. i cut some of my hair
2. glued it to my eye w/ eyelash glue*! WAH LAH!

CURL hairs first! since putting a curling iron that close to yr eyebawls is scary!

Thank you for the tip, Miss Ziffel. Tonight I will chug maple syrup shots with my best face forward.

*Editor’s note: If you are a slob like me, you probably do not have any real eyelash glue in your house. I can attest that glue stick works as fine substitute.

Sexy super flower pop op warning

I know I haven’t posted a lot lately. I have a good reason though, I promise. A while ago I ingested this stuff that is actually legal but I don’t know why, and ever since then I’ve been hearing horns and seeing nuns and brides with glittery pasties and soldiers everywhere, and man, am I a wreck. Ladies and gentlemen, don’t ever tell you that I didn’t warn you about the majestic terror of Afri Cola:

via Coudal
Published in: on February 24, 2011 at 1:16 pm  Leave a Comment
Tags: , , ,

And be merry

I applaud everyone who has made a resolution to eat better this year, but I would like to remind people that eating better doesn’t mean just mean eating less or eating more healthfully. It means eating better; eat good food and enjoy yourself while you’re doing it. And the role model that madamjujujive, eugenen at metafilter, and I would probably direct you to for this lesson is Miss Platnum. Speaking as a person who has played a trombone in a hot tub, I can tell you that Miss Platnum knows how to have a good time.

The Blue Flame

If a hardhat-wearing ape, an effeminate robot, and a gaggle of sexy nurses stop you on the street one day and ask you to tell them a story about a time you got injured, you should do it. Your story might be immortalized in paper dolls.

(Warning: video NSFW because of puppet nudity)

For all your Bauhaus flooring needs

Never take an art history class that is scheduled just after lunchtime. You’ll stay awake long enough to know that the overall aesthetic of Carpet Town’s mural is heavily influenced by the works of Kandinsky and Oskar Fischinger,

but the food coma will kick in just before you find out where the hand came from.

Do you like worms?

If I grew up in a place where they had to tell me not to poop outside unless I wanted to get worms, I guess I would be okay with it if it were a frog puppet named Ro-Revus telling me not to poop outside. I guess.

via the genius that is everlasting blort

The poisonous celebrity Max is on the stick

I found a story today on neatorama about people in South Korea finding a way to use their iPhone touch screens while still wearing gloves, but isn’t it more fun to go to the source of the story and do a transliteration instead?

‘…Liu also touch maekseubong sausages, such as a known fact that iPhone users said they ‘do not want to take off the gloves in the winter cold, the only bee Max’ or yiramyeo experiences and use them to the Internet while sales soared Max rods.

Max Peak 9 days CJ Corporation’s main selling convenience store sales result of Sir Roy, had a special little despite two months from December to January last year, 11 billion revenue last year increased by 39% over the same period was .

CJ Corporation maekseubong gimminseop manager of brand managers, “maekseubong tagitcheung and this just fits the iPhone user base, while the poisonous celebrity, Max is on the stick,” said, “iPhone users to target promotions, including one maekseubong maekseubong this opportunity to inform a variety of brands as of how to plan, “he said.’

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Collection Submit Filmmakers
Nymphe, Modern Life

Nymphe, Modern Life

Estelle Charrié
2016, 5m, animation, comedy, fantasy

An the roundabout of a commercial area lives a nymph. One day she makes a unpredictable encounter with a gardener janitor.

Produced by: EMCA (school)
The 3-week run for Nymphe, Modern Life ended on Mar 14th, 2017. Thank you to all the fans that supported it!
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Fans of this film

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The Ten-Day Interview

6 questions with Nymphe, Modern Life director, Estelle Charrié at the half-way mark.
Friday, March 3rd, 2017
  1. 1 Hi Estelle! Thanks for being a part of our festival. First, what inspired you to make this film?
    "Running around naked like a nymph on a roundabout. " was literaly something I read on facebook 8 years ago. It never left me, and I felt it was perfect to talk about a dear subject of mine : women in modern society.
  2. 2 The Nymphe character and character design are so great. How did you go about creating her and what made you want to tell a story around her?
    At first the Nymph's character was more weird and deviant. I wanted to play the nymph's archetype in modern langage ( in french "une nymphette" means a young woman childish, naive and charming), who, tired from containing herself in a perfect role model end up having an odd and extreme behaviour nourrished with frustration.
    Finaly I decided to keep the comical aspect of her oddity, and her so-called superficiality is realy a facade. The Nymph still as everything to learn and getting out of her roundabout is a first step toward emancipation, that's the real subject of the movie.
  3. 3 The color palette in this film is incredible. How did you decide on creating the world in the colors you selected instead of more conventional colors?
    A nymph is not a creature with many props that could help define the character visualy, the best and most interesting solution to me was to use her environment. The fact that the vegetation is at the same time organic/vibrant and plastic/fake reflects the Nymph's paradox.
    And also, I love vaporwave aethetics.
  4. 4 What is it that you love about animation?
    Total freedom in direction, no physical limits. You don't need much to make a film... You need a lot of time though !
  5. 5 This feels like it could be a part of a larger story. Do you have any plans to expand upon this?
    It's definitely part of a bigger story. As a graduation film I didn't wanted to make it a pilot, but the idea of making it a show is here from the begining. I'm glad the characters feel consistent enough, because it was my main goal, and I have a lot more to tell about the Nymph.
  6. 6 What's next?
    I am writting a sequel, I do not have as much time as I had last year so it will be fragmented into gifs and edited in a movie later. There are a lot of possibilities format-wise, but the story is ready to be told. You can follow the process on my website.
    Expect satyrs and amazones.
    I'm also working on a side project which will be shorter (no more than 3 minutes) and focused on acting gags.
  7. About the Interviewer: Ben Hicks
    Ben Hicks is a writer/director and co-founder of Fandependent Films. Ben is currently working on making Fandependent Films awesome and is finishing up his first feature film entitled Kids Go Free to Fun Fun Time. The film is about the evolution of a couple's relationship, and was shot in three different countries over the course of a decade.
    Ben Hicks

The film with the most fans wins $1,000

For 2017 we are moving on from screening feature films and will be showcasing shorts. For our Winter 2017 Festival, we are giving away $2,000 in prizes to the top three films.

Fan Award

The film with the most fans.

Audience Award

The film with the most views.

Jury Award

Our favorite film.
Our Winter 2017

Festival Partners

Hammer to Nail Film Pulse Film Fervor