Tim Burton & Matthew Gray Gubler & Stuff

The two people above seem an unlikely couple to coexist in any textual space; however they do have something in common besides my apparent interest in them. 

I went to Tate Modern again yesterday because it was Friday and on Fridays some museums in London choose to treat their patrons by staying open late, till 10pm in Tate Modern's case (and the sandwiches in the museum cafe in late hours, like an out-of-fashion artist, decide to trade for a reduced price too.) I love museums, a passion not shared by everyone I meet - quite a pity for I think everyone should love museums, regardless of his or her level of interest in Picasso and whatnot, for three reasons. 

First, they are free, mostly, in London, unless you really die to view a current exhibition which always charges a handsome fee or your guilty conscience would never allow you to bypass the donation box placed at the museum entrance without reaching for your wallet. 

Second, most museums promise a great escape with their aesthetically pleasing and architecturally interesting, large and open spaces to urban dwellers, the majority of whom spilt their lives between dreadful office cubicles and cookie-cutter characterless apartments. Think of the lofty, light-infused great hall of the British Museum, the historic, imposing central hall of the Natural History Museum, the awe-evoking, raw, industrial Turbine Hall of Tate Modern. Think of the many varied spaces, large and small, throughout the museums, usually no short of benches, armchairs and couches eagerly inviting one to stop, sit, linger, loiter, rest, watch, appreciate, anything but to hurry and be hurried, like in shops/cafes by over-zealous and oftentimes intrusive staff. 

Last but not the least, museum shops! Commercialized art, or art merchandise, things having a lot  or little to do with art, or things priced exorbitantly in the name of art, whatever you describe it. Despicable they might be, I find them very therapeutic and soothing, which has little to do with whether you can or want to afford to buy anything. The selection, the display, the color, the space! Everything seems mesmerizingly reachable, and at the same time also seems a bit too refined to regard them in the context of one's own home.

Okay, I have digressed enough and shall return to my visit to Tate Modern, more specifically, to its store. Among a sea of glossy, beautifully-covered books, I saw this book by Tim Burton, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories, lying there with a modest dark blue cover. I have known the book for a few years - first published in 1997, the book is 12 years old already-, and have been tempted to pick up a pricy hardcover copy in a NYC bookstore a couple of times but was never resolved enough to do it, especially after I found a full electronic copy online. I got to know the book when I didn't even know who Tim Burton was despite his fame and statue in Hollywood. I was attracted by his style of drawings and storytelling, a style very adeptly described by New York Times as:

"The Melancholy Death of Osyter Boy exquisitely conveys the pain of an adolescent outsider. Like Tim Burton's movies, the work manages to be both childlike and sophisticated, blending the innocent with the Macabre."

Seeing the book quietly snuggled among some colorful children's picture books - I highly question the appropriateness of categorizing it as children's book by Tate Modern - I was suddenly overcome by a feeling one often experiences in childhood for a long-coveted toy or chocolate bar. I brought the book to the cashier without much hesitation though it was not cheaper than the hardcover copy I came across years ago.

Here is a poem with the accompanying cartoon from the book:

The Pin Cushion Queen

Life isn't easy 

for the Pin Cushion Queen,

When she sits alone on her throne,

Pins push through her spleen.

 

This kind of morbid twist on childlike stories is easily reminiscent of the works of Edward Gorey (Gorey's entry in Wikipedia confirms the influence of Gorey on Burton's directional style), who decades before Burton's little book painted a more gruesome picture of the deaths of the "gashlycrumb tinnies". Here is one of the deaths:

Gorey is one of my favorite illustrators; but I only own two books of his: his books are hard to find,  being one excuse. I adore his dexterous and meticulous use of lines, his ability to build up an otherworldly atmosphere in which his odd characters live, his masterly use of meager words alongside his drawings. 

So why Matthew Gray Gubler? And, more important, who is he? He is nobody or a rather obscure actor/former fashion model to most people. He is Agent Spencer Reid/genius to anyone who is a fan like I am of the US TV crime drama series "Criminal Minds". He is also a quite talented sketch artist, only known to the few who happen to have visited his personal website which displays many of his works or doodles - he is the designer of the website too. The ghastly nature of his sketches supplies an interesting yet surprisingly complimentary facet to the nerdy Dr. Reid character - somehow I find it hard to separate his TV persona from his real life one; I would like to think he's playing himself though I perfectly know the real Gubler, smart he may be, is not a genius. 

So finally here is the connection between Tim Burton and Matthew Gray Gubler, that they are both in the show-biz and they both have a less-known artistic talent in drawing, sketching, illustrating, whatever you call it and an aesthetic taste in and inclination for things that are not so cute-and-cheerful. There is something else I envy in them both:  that their fame - not so much yet for MGG- as a result of their career in film or TV helps to bring to light their other artistic endeavors, which otherwise more likely than not will sink to obscurity, for neither of the two, as much as I admire them, stand great chance of prospering based solely on their drawing/sketching skills. But lucky for them, and for me too, they are keeping their day jobs. For MGG, I would buy his book if he ever decides to publish one.

带着桑贝去巴黎 （一）

行李放进一本桑贝的绘本《一点巴黎》上了前往巴黎的火车。火车出发时，夜尚未央，窗外漆黑辩不出景物。本想在火车上等看法国乡村的日出，可是上车没多久，困意来袭，无法抵挡，于是和整个车厢的人一起入睡了。再次睁眼，是被广播叫醒，火车已经进入了巴黎nord车站。天色阴沉，所以也没有错过什么日出。早听说巴黎近郊景色远非宜人，没有看到可能也算幸运。

短短的三天，时光实在有限。这次出行，我难得不用负责导游看地图。身边的这位曾经在巴黎短住，于是自告奋勇的担当起导游的重任。我平日出门，习惯于研究地图，将方向把摸清楚，不然很没安全感，也影响我对地点和景物的感知。这次完全撒了手，倒是轻松，但后果就是，三天过后我对巴黎各区各景点的方位还是停留在一无所知的水平，只是依稀的记得塞纳河的大致走向。

欧洲的冬天，可能除了南欧外，主体色是灰色，灰蓝色的天空（除了偶尔大晴的午后），灰黄色的建筑和灰黑色的路人服装，树木大多不是常青的，所以2月的时候都还在默默孕育春天的嫩芽，留给人们目光的是黑色坚韧的树干和树枝，在天空下形成繁复的剪影。这样的景致想来是很适合简单的黑色钢笔手绘的，没有丰富饱和的大片色彩，有的是单色调的线条。

出行前，没有看任何所谓的旅游指南、景点介绍类的资料，加上不用我研究地图；除了个别的单词，我对法语一窍不通，读过的法国作家的东西也都是译本，我又是一个对翻译没有信任感的人，所以乐得这次旅游，头脑里基本没有先入未大的“文字”印象，我的唯一的“巴黎指南”，便是桑贝的绘本了。桑贝的《一点巴黎》是我拥有的第一本他的绘本，记得当时是在网络上购买的，并花了比书价还贵的运费千里迢迢的运到我住的城市。即便是这样，总成本也比在当地买英文版的便宜。那时自己刚刚开始尝试一些手绘，对桑贝很是着迷。买那时对巴黎似乎没有什么向往，看他的绘本，主要是着迷于他的独特的绘画手法：桑贝的画笔从不吝啬笔墨描绘建筑街道房屋树木，层层叠叠，繁复细致，但到了人物，却是简单到不能再简单的笔触，仿佛多用一条线，他都不乐意。即便这样，他的人物却从来不乏生动的姿体和表情，这是一件很奇妙的事，有时你仔细观察他笔下的一个人物，明明就是三两根钢笔线条，你却仿佛能真切看到他／她／它嘴角细微的那抹微笑／轻蔑／不屑／愤怒／忧伤。这本不厚的书，被我翻的有点脏。在去巴黎的火车上，我又细细的把《一点巴黎》翻了一遍，这次因了巴黎就在近在咫尺触手可及的时空，所以看书的重点从看画移到了看内容：桑贝画笔下的巴黎和巴黎人。

在我看来，桑贝画笔下的巴黎有着几个永恒的主题：城市之大，人物之小；生活之庞杂，心灵之平静；市井之热闹，人心之孤独。他喜欢画独居的老人，清晨的跑步者，盛气凌人的摩托车，与之对峙的弱小的行人，咖啡店的女子，河边独立的思考者，深夜街头的踯躅者，被遛的狗，流浪的猫，等等等等。当然他笔下最突出最盛大的永远是城市的建筑和塞纳河，虽然静默无语，但它们是巴黎风景中永远的主角，在每副画中，它们总第一时间攫取读者的眼光，之后才是散落在楼前河边的小小的巴黎人。难怪有人评论桑贝的画是无时代感(timeless)的，或者说在什么时代看都是不过时而能引人共鸣的，这可能就是因为他的画的主角从来不是某个或某群人物，而是那些静默旁观的楼房街道和不息流淌的塞纳河，以及那些永恒的人类情绪：孤独、快乐、忧伤、落寞、怀旧，以及人与城市、社会、机器之间永远的对峙。