Jono Lewarne



Jono Lewarne's work makes me wish I would have started making book last year. There are so many nice nice nice things on this site. I like the use of minimal colour and simplictiy to the work. Clean fresh. I'm gonna come up with some new ideas now...

Cut it up


Brock Davis 'make something cool everyday' there are some nice things on here I particualarly like the use of found objects and these collages. I don't think he's made anuthing new for a while though. Worth a look


Emily Foden, book maker.

Reasons to love Warrington...

I returned to Warrington for the benefit of creating this blog. Internet access as well as access to the photos on my computer. My house no longer feeling like a home. Changed in shape and size since I last lived here. An extension. Dust everywhere, plaster crumbling from the walls, tiles broken, carpets torn up. No stuff, where did all the stuff go? Kitchen resembling more of a builders playground. Planks, packages of tiles, plastering tools. Even though the building work is finished. Half a bottle of red. Half a tastey if not slightly dusty bottle of red. Mmmm. Tea cooking (dusty stove. Edible?) Impatient, balancing on a wooden plank, (reminding me of playing in the scaffolding yards as a child whilst my dad worked. That was dusty too and surprisingly fun!) There are no memories here anymore. Even he scent of home has been replaced with the scent of fresh plaster. There isn't much reason for me to return here, though I undoubtebly will. It is still a home. Maybe when the decorting is finished it'll feel different, still it won't feel like mine. I need to start again.

There will always be the memory though. Things drawing me back. Sights, sounds, smells. Still a hme I guess. Warrington may not be the nicest place in the world but it has it's moments. Some character. Sometimes ridiculous, but character all the same. Of the many landmarks embedded in my mind (even above The Lewis Carrol memorial, The old Fish market, Golden gates, Daresbury Laboratory (tachnically that belongs to daresbury but you can see it standing tall on the hoizon sometimes), ICI plant, Fiddlers Ferry, Lever Bros factory (which all occasionally dominate the landscape), Walton Gardens, Bewsy Old Hall, Gullivers World and all the scum bags liotering in the streets) these two have to be my favourite:
The wierd green things in the centre of town. I don't know what these are or why they are here. But they are here and we just accept it. Sums up Warrington really, pointless, ugly, but there all the same, full of character.


The pink eye. I am a little more wise on this one. I know the story. This building, although not very tall in relation to say the hilton tower, is a dominant feature on my journey into town. The story quite simply is that the guy who cruely did this wanted origionally to paint a sea mural couldn't get the permission (How that would fit any better and why this did get permission I'll never know!) To display his anguish and pain through not being allowed to paint the sea on this ugly building, he pubished us all with the pink eye. Again a fitting metaphor for Warrington and how I feel about the place. Again adding to the character of warrington, wanting to become this nice place, regenerating, building, never quite getting it right, character. It always makes me laugh though. It is pretty funny after all!

Warrington is a little bit like having an older brother doing time for brutal murder. You can't stand the sight of him, want nothing to do with him, but you are still drawn to him. There is still that link, memories, time, blood and you kind of miss him.
Yes that's right brutal murder!

Ugliness vs Beauty

I am more familiar with ugly surroundings than I am with the picturesque and traditionally 'beautiful'. These so called 'ugly' surroundings however are in fact beautiful too. Objects man made effected by nature and man. Natures objects effected by man and nature. (Who will win?)
The history of an object being constantly transformed by the spontaneity of life, day in day out, adding to it, making it unique, making it individual. Beauty is everywhere you look.

The following photos, in a similar vein to the above, are two of many taken in the fine art painting studios. Where people constantly test out spray paint, doodle, clean their brushes on whatever surfaces.

This final image is of my Grandad's shed door. The front of it was black and looked like any regular door, the inside multicoloured. Finishing off odds and ends of paint cans, cleaning off his brush. His hobby was painting from images of landscapes and far away scenery, but his finest artistic achievement was this door (without meaning to sound condescending or disrespectful I just really love this door, I want to take it off it's hinges and stick it to my wall.)

Negative

I found a cigar tin full of old negatives over the summer amongst the belongings of my Grandad (since his death it seems the family are gradually looting his stuff!) I have always been fascinated with old photographs. Anything with a sense of history, a sense of time having past, a sense of a lost present, as pretty soon this moment will become. It's the same with abandoned buildings and ruins for me. Fascinated. Why are they now ruined/abandoned? What happened?

These photographs taken, a moment almost lost and forgotten if it wasn't for someone pressing the shutter then the moment is recorded. I chose carefully which negatives I was to scan and recover, over 100 memories salvaged. They will live for another generation at least. This is my history. Another link in the vast chain which has lead to me, to my life being here and now. A facinating chain of events of which I will never be aware. None of us will ever become fully aware.
I can only hope someday someone will want to save my memories.

Identity: The Books

After gathering so many images and having written so many words it was only natural to gather them into a book format. This project has really helped me to find not only myself but a place for me within design. After two years of feeling like a fake on her last bit of luck, about to get caught out any minute, I have finally found something that feels honest to myself and allows me to be expressive. I will continue to make books for this reason.
(click to enlarge images)

Here's the Identity Series...



Transition...



The Identity Book...



Extract:
Identity No. 3
Unidentified
When I saw the two faceless souls my insides screamed and tried to break out of my skin. Composed I made my way towards them. I notice they had no mouths from which to speak no eyes from which to peek. Communication would be difficult. I refrain from asking any questions. From their hands I took a piece of paper
"Untitled 1" and "Untitled 2"
"If lost please return to Elsie May."
As it happens Elsie May found us and before I had the chance to speak, "Don't worry about them. They haven't found themselves yet." Noticing they had ears, I wished them luck on their journey and continued on mine.



Identity Lost/Found...



Video Link...

You can see me whenever you like, just call, I'll drop everything... But most people just prefer to watch this video...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpXfrDBN7dI&feature=channel_page

A video of myself taken in photobooth over a year period. When the photos were taken they were unaware of their fate so they are silly, vain, repetitive and honest (and some times embarassing!) It is interesting to see little things that remind me of an event that happened, subtle changes to myself and a sort of clumbsy narrative. It starts off with an allergic reaction which literally covered the whole of my body particularly effecting my eyes in quite a serious way. It was all because a dangerous patch of mold growing behind my bed, underneath my head - student accommodation! It ends in much happier dwellings (nice student accommodation) with quite a difference in my appearance...The Culprit:

Other videos on my you tube channel... www.youtube.com/mandiocious

Identity: The Images

When Exploring the theme of Identity I became Particularly interested in what it is that makes us... us. My starting point was the passport photo. Something that appears on nearly all forms of identity, something that proves we are who we say we are. Something that is a stripped down, raw and honest impression of ourselves. Yet most of us do not like showing passport photos as they are very unforgiving.


As my exploration continued I began to consider how to change an identity. How much would you have to change before you are no longer you? Do we change our hair, surgery, wardrobe, education, mental illness and so on. Or do we remain the same, still us, only slightly different. Is it not the journey which makes us? All we feel and experience, everyone that enters our lives. From birth all that we do is self improve, but we are still ourselves - we remain in the same vessel.
These thoughts lead to new images, obscuring identity, playing with expression and recognition, and manipulation of the self. Deceiving others plays a vital role when trying to change an identity, you may have fooled them but you cannot fool your self! We can never escape ourselves. It also lead to a series of writing playing with the ideas raised.
(Click to enlarge images)
I also became interested in how behind every window is a different personality. No two living rooms a-like. Stuff accumulates. Decor, tastes, cleanliness. The living space almost becomes an extension of the individual, surrounding themselves with things they enjoy, memories, well read books, precious antiques, heirlooms, things of no particular value but immense meaning.

Watching Memories

"I shall have chanced to strike my forehead, within my night, at some door, freeing an anguished memory that had been haunting me since the beginning of the world." - Jean Genet

I'm one for observing. Sometimes I forget to speak or even that I had anything to say through looking. First, I must apologise if I can sometimes be difficult to talk to, if I'm not saying much it's probably because I'm either not used to being around you, am interested in the way you talk/react/express yourself, or, sometimes, I just don't have too much to say.

It is interesting to watch as people speak of their memories. Watching the face as it evokes and spills out the emotion of the moment. (As long as it is not an elaborate over rehearsed anecdote, still I guess enthusiasm is also interesting to watch.) A genuine memory. An experience. Something that elicits emotion. To watch: Eyes flick back and forth, as if exploring the memory before them. It is happening right now. For them, but only for them. You can't see it, you can only hear about it. Key pauses. Looking into the distant but not focused on anything that is here right now. Then eye contact. Then into the distance again. Joy. Pain. Discomfort. Awkwardness. Intensity. Excitement. Wisdom. Regret. Sorrow. Fondness. More eye contact. Reactions. Smiles. Grimaces.

It's all there. Embedded in the mind a picture to study, a moment to revisit. Time travel.

I like to watch people, study their movements, their expressions, their facial features. Push for a memory then before your very eyes watch as it is relived.

White Light/White Heat

Here is an idea I was toying around with for a little while. It never reached any sort of conclusion.

Gray's Anatomy

The illustrations from Gray's Anatomy are precise clinical accurate. The first drawings of their kind to aid medical students. A team effort, Gray dissecting and labeling, Carter illustrating. I am drawn towards the simplicity of the images, minimal colour, the way the type interacts with the illustration and the details. The human body itself an inspiration. We are often unaware or at least take for granted the 'behind the scenes' of humanity, paying much more attention to the exterior as a form of self expression. Ignoring the fact that we have all this organic machinery keeping us alive - that is until something goes wrong. What are we? Are we our insides or our out? We are both but we prefer not to get into the gory bits.

Mugshots

There is a rawness to mugshots. A sense of having your identity stripped bear. Being reduced to little more than a number. Being put on file. Just in case. It's particularly interesting to look at celebrity mug shots, stripped of persona. It doesn't matter who you are here. You are now little more than a number.
I particularly like this one of Janis. It's 69 but she looks like some Victorian hobo. The decaying of the photograph, the rough and loose way it has been pieced together. A recorded moment, date, place and time included.
I have six mug shots on my wall. Only recently did I realise that they are all of dead people. Frank. Jim. Jimmi. Janis. Johny. and Sid. Each one stripped bare.