Guest Post: Book Recommendations by Carolina
For this guest post my wonderful friend Carolina was kind enough to curate a list of book recommendations.
When Syed asked me to make this post, it didn't take me long to come up with this idea. I figured it would introduce me way better than my words could ever attempt while simultaneously allowing me to share something I hold dearly. That’s how I decided to curate a book list from my personal collection, and although it doesn’t include all my favourites (which is basically like picking your favourite child to me), these certainly fulfil the requirements.
There are no such things as a permanent, wildly diverse reading list, at least not within an acceptable length for a blog post. So, while I may have sacrificed some great books in the name of conciseness and cohesiveness, these are the kind you would want to save if your house was on fire.
But why books? Sure, I could have curated (yes, I’m indulging in the vague meaning of this word that seems to proliferate webwide) anything else. Yet somewhere between pandemic fatigue, saturated social media feeds, and pulling your hair out over government incompetence, reading a book feels like time well spent. I have been thinking about how much time a book consumes compared to other activities, as the time to critically process, absorb and reflect on a book is a luxury in our fast-paced “normalcy”. Perhaps, that’s what we need right now. I will risk calling it a silver lining amidst generalised uncertainty, but hopefully you will find something here that is worth your time.
Presented in no particular order...
Yohji Yamamoto: My Dear Bomb
To begin with, I won’t hide my bias towards this one. It was the first title that came to mind when I was drafting this list. Perhaps, because it’s unusual to find one like this. I would hardly call it an autobiography as it’s often advertised. It’s tempting to dub it a memoir but that wouldn’t do justice to the range of different subjects, varied styles, song lyrics, occasional sketches, and other fragments it brings together. Ultimately it feels like a journal, Yohji’s journal. And it’s precisely this sense of intimacy (as far as it is possible for anything produced with the public in mind to be) that gives substance to the book. Probably the closest attempt to understand his mind.
Rei Kawakubo/Comme des Garçons: Art of the In-Between
The book published for the MET exhibition of the same title. Particularly interesting is the layout, organised into different dichotomies within Kawakubo’s work (albeit these being subject to her own criticism – or to put it better, a rejection of classification). Truth is: you get it for the striking photographs, in this case, paired with Kawakubo’s quotes. But an honourable mention goes to the interview that shows us a glimpse into her mind. While part of me wishes it featured more written material, I doubt Rei would enjoy that sort of overexplaining. Thus, it feels right.
Hiroshi Sugimoto: Architecture
One could throw around words like essence, perception or absence (to name but a few), press release style. I would rather not. Hiroshi Sugimoto’s approach to this project is nothing more than a radical plot twist on the crisp photography style that he is widely known for, which I inherently assume as uncomfortable to pursue. I like that. Sugimoto ends his introduction by rambling about Tolstoy’s story “How Much Land Does a Man Need?”. Yet, the photographs hardly offer an answer to this question. Instead, what they do reveal is how much land we don’t know we need. From the diverse collection of buildings, you’re likely to recognise most of them, and I wonder: isn’t a blurry image of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim how you actually remember the building until you get to see it? Memory is a tricky business, and so is time. I think this book forces you to acknowledge how, amidst our fast-paced lives, some memories we take for granted are nothing but a blur. And here I am, talking about absence.
Talking to Myself (Yohji Yamamoto)
The Yohji book. In fact, they are two books, one of them being a catalogue of Yamamoto’s collections between 1981-2002. The other volume comprises everything from photographs (by the likes of Nick Knight, Peter Lindbergh, Sarah Moon, Paolo Roversi and David Sims) and sketches, to essays and the designer’s own musings. As I see it, Talking to Myself is the visual parallel of My Dear Bomb, and out of all the Yohji books, they belong most together. Not simply because they are both personal favourites, but because they share the same feeling of authenticity and proximity to Yohji’s universe that books like these often lack.
One last thing, I dare you to convince me book design can get better than this — stitched folded pages? the perfect exposed spine? Almost too hot.
1986-2005 (Helmut Lang Archive Book)
Two volumes again. Words nowhere to be found. Is it even a book? What you will find is hundreds of photographed garments across a span of two decades, constituting the most comprehensive Helmut Lang archive in print ever. In Syed’s immaculate words: “an archivebeast’s wet dream”, but also a pure encapsulation of a designer’s work, whose impact on fashion is still felt to this day.
For those of you still mourning the burnt turned into shredded fabric turned into art brand’s archive, and those who can’t help themselves but emphasise the word garment alike. Do I need to say anything else?
Tadao Ando: Complete Works (1969-1994)
The master of concrete and light. To be honest, what you need is any comprehensive Tadao Ando book, because yes, there are many great architects for every taste, yet Ando’s brilliance is hard to dispute. This one happens to include not only photographs but also plans and sketches (I obsess over these quite often) of some of his best works. I believe his buildings evoke emotions with an intensity and ease most commonly associated with fine art. If that’s not enough to persuade you…
A Magazine Curated by Maison Martin Margiela
No, this one isn’t a book. Yet after the announcement of its reprint, I couldn’t resist. Is half of the hype surrounding this publication a myth? Most certainly. However, the other half pays tribute to perfectly curated imagery in a style characteristic of Margiela’s universe. Whether seen as a collectible or a nostalgia infused ticket to the long-gone Maison Martin Margiela days, it remains an example of great printed matter. Grab your copy while you can, unless you want the OG one, which is also fairly easy to find (provided you don’t mind the resale price).
Antony Gormley Catalogue (Royal Academy of Arts)
Have you ever visited an exhibition that made you feel something? I bet you did, so I won’t bore you with details, instead, I will tell you what I do when that happens: I refuse to leave the building without the exhibition’s catalogue under any circumstances (despite, in this instance, carrying around unreasonably full luggage and an awareness of the anticipated struggle to pack the said publication). Gormley is widely known for his human-like sculptures, yet it’s in his most inhuman works, the heavy (literally and metaphorically), even claustrophobic, room-filling installations that I find the strongest connection to the human experience. If you missed this show, you can find some consolation in the large-sized photographs included in this book; whereas if you had the chance to visit, well, I hope you already own it.
Where Did Issey Come From? The Work of Issey Miyake
Published in 2017, it’s a bilingual edition that features nine chapters of Kazuko Koike’s essays, eight of which were previously included in Taschen’s monograph of the designer. Honestly, you might want to look into that one, as the essays are accompanied by stunning images in a coffee-table-worthy size. Or, and this is where this book scores higher, you actually want to read it. I’m not saying you can’t read Taschen’s one, however, one can argue the heavy hardback is not the most comfortable, especially if you want to go through all the beautifully (almost passionately) written texts at one sitting (guilty as charged). Ultimately, it’s a matter of preference, but it’s worth noting Tadanori Yokoo’s illustrations that were once used for Issey Miyake’s show invitations between 1977-1999, and the splendid graphic design.
Araki: Impossible Love
NSFW. My bad, in the age of WFH, it’s definitely something you could keep on your desk-sofa-bed and flick through in between Zoom meetings. All jokes aside, this book is made of contrasts. From the merging of the photographer's old and recent work, to his infamous Polaroid collages, followed by full-page flowers and, most importantly, the constant dichotomy between the public and the private central to his work. Soon enough you realise that the people in the streets don’t look any less naked than the women shot within four walls. Araki manages to capture, as curator Felix Hoffmann put it, "radical intimacy in the interweaving of personal experiences with external social tensions". In times of simultaneously increased private time and social unrest, his photographs take on significant weight.
You can find Carolina on her Instagram page @___01000011
