Note:
The following is a series of
excerpts from the book I am currently working on — an interiors book housed in a
memoir of my aesthetic encounters. I have three agendas for this book that may
not be evident in this abbreviated format so I will list them here:
Chronicle the aesthetic
influences that have shaped my life while…
Heterogeneous
2013
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| Rebecca Purcell Archive - Photographer Max Vadukul |
Trying to
choose a career — a path in life — has not been an easy endeavor. It
has been such a torture at times that, for the most part, I let life choose for
me. I have been attracted to literally hundreds
of interests — the map of my future resembling fishing net that stretches to
the moon.
But about a year ago, at forty-nine, I finally discovered a kind of path.
At forty-nine
hindsight was an informative friend, offering me a fairly good idea of what I
was consistently attracted to and — just as importantly — what I was inclined towards doing.
Although
I never really chose it as a career goal, clearly styling is a large part of my
identity; the evolution of consciousness has emerged as a genuine and
persistent curiosity; and somehow both are intimately tied in with a life long interest
in the dynamics of objects.
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The kind
of objects I am attracted to are generally referred to as “vintage.” With the
one exception of dirty white plastic — there’s not a contemporary bob in the
bunch. On the other hand, I am interested in the outer edge of evolutionary
thought and applaud revolutions in any field. The former does not quite fit
with the latter. And so I have spent my life uncertain as to whether I am
suffering — aesthetically speaking — from an ignorant or “lazy” eye; or if I am
delusional when it comes to understanding my ontological interests and just
fooling myself as to their “a la mode” inclinations.
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I have looked at my preferred, time-touched objects from
many angles, hoping that by delving deeply into their matrix, I may find a
source that would propel them into the future. I have found some aspects that I
could prompt toward this direction, but the objects I love remain, to a
substantial degree, stuck behind a visual façade of nostalgic — i.e. regressive
— trappings. If not contemporary, couldn’t I conjure some love for something
at least modern? Couldn’t I at least love that Eames lounge chair everyone
seems so crazy about? Instead, I kind of hate it.
It helped to realize, that at this point in the
history of aesthetics, basically everything is trapped behind the same barrier:
“modern” is now a nostalgic term, followed by “contemporary” which may be just another way of saying the “residual affects of modernism.”
The thing is, clean lines just don’t invade my
senses. They don’t needle in and then punch me with a kind of sickening feeling
of intense connection and joy — like that tatty needle case, or a selection of
jacquard ribbons lined up in a row.
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How can I pull an evolutionary rabbit from a vintage
hat! That seemed to be the question.
Finally, at forty-nine, after years of speculation, exploration
and backward glancing, an answer emerged: I instinctively shy away from objects
that represent my current cultures love affair with scientism, bottom-line,
negative rationality, and reductive speculation for the future. Instead I
search the past for interesting seeds that may reveal a very different future — a kind of stepping backward to see
forward.
The artist in me is continuously searching for hints
and clues among the forgotten, the time worn, the discarded and the nostalgic,
researching the evolution of consciousness and culture, looking for connections
that could point to a new future. The stylist in me searches for nuance,
looking for new relationships between objects, and creating physical association
through placement. While not identical, they are similar and corresponding
pursuits.
And so, at forty-nine, I discovered my path — my
calling and practice — I am an artist as
stylist… not sure exactly how this manifests but I know what it means.
In other words, I
know what I am doing I just don’t know what it is.
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| Rebecca Purcell Stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
Organon 9 Worlds
Age 4 through 12 - 1991 to Present
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Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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A vein of intense melancholy runs in our family at least two generations back (we are predominantly Irish…) and I will openly admit that I have, at times, felt the pull to just drop off the deep end.
At this point I have managed to put the desire to step into oncoming traffic behind me but there were many times in my past when some morbid, winged specter cast a shadow I was unable — or unconsciously unwilling to — step out from under. During these episodes I developed a kind of world where the troubled side of me could indulge in obsessive ordering: Organon 9 Worlds.
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Rebecca Purcell Archive - from article in Where Women Create
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The subtle beginning of this world was evident in early childhood. I remember many days where I was overwhelmed by some unexplained, deep sorrow. On one such appropriately rainy day, when I was around four or five, I saw a small yellow leaflet rushing down the gutter with the rainwater. I scrambled to the gutter’s edge and managed to save the leaf just before it was whisked away into the drain. I vividly remember looking down at its tiny perfection in my wet hand, and while gently stroking its velvety body, I said to no one: “three.”
I felt this tiny leaflet had a kind of soul that was giving me a message that came in the form of a number; the message was “three.”
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Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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I continued through out my childhood assigning numbers to objects and colors at various times when I felt compelled to do so — this was usually during trying times. I have since discovered that this is not a peculiarity of mine alone, apparently it’s called Synesthesia and refers to any similar practice of automatically crossing seemingly unrelated categories such as colors with days of the week or with specific musical notes.
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Rebecca Purcell Archive - Photo Adam Bartos for Nest Magazine
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The source of the inclination to cross-reference in this manner has not been identified; in my case I assigned this idea of a secret message from an object’s soul. Whether it is true or not that objects have a soul? …Hard to say, I only know that I still feel some objects harbor an essence that is beyond human projection.
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Rebecca Purcell Archive - from article in Where Women Create
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The urge to number objects drifted away with the onset of my early teens. But the inclination returned in my late twenties, while sitting on the edge of a Gothic, half-canopied bed in my tiny indigo bedroom. For some unexplainable reason, I was suddenly seized with a renewed need to number things and I immediately began to list colors and objects that I felt intrinsically had a kind of soul and therefore an associated number: Old man’s wingtip #11, Gold hoop earrings #13, Worn velvet #7, Battleship grey #9… on and on until, exhausted, I finally went to sleep.
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#3 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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#5 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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#9 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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The obsessive numbering continued through out the next day becoming a slow but steady trickle during the next several months. I chose symbolic objects that were directly linked to associations I had with objects but also associations found in my surrounding culture/society/environment. I organized them in a way that seemed “appropriate” to me while effort was given to their being “appropriate” to others who shared my milieu.
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#11 - Rebecca Purcell Archive
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#8 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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#13 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Photo (yikes! will think of her shortly... Sheila Metzner! Amazing photographer)
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This “list” greatly expanded over the next few years eventually settling into three groups of three — encompassing nine numbered categories in all — each with its own set of objects, genres, landscapes, secondary worlds, emotional content, gender inclinations and symbolic imagery! All of this represented by a collection of magazine pages, vintage ephemera, nine part philosophies, poetic prose, a battery of notes, as well as mathematical, philosophical and esoteric research.
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#7 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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#2 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Japanese clothing Add Campaign
Info long lost (Please contact me if you have any info as this is one of my most cherished images)
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#12 - Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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Through out the years I have used Organon 9 Worlds as an integral part of basically every creative project. It continuously shifts and morphs, never really fixing on one trajectory, changing its focus as I change mine. The important thing is it is there for me, reminding me I have an interior life that helps me ferret out the nuanced world that exists between the cracks, a constant companion who welcomes my dark side.
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Rebecca Purcell Archive - Found Photo
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A Stumble Into Styling
1999 to Present
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| Rebecca Purcell Art director and Stylist. Photographer David Meredith |
Let’s see… when was I first
introduced to the world of prop styling? After magazine number 20,458 — full of clothing, accessories, shoes,
furniture, objects and sets — I should have realized someone must have been hired to get
all of that stuff. But I don’t think I really grasped exactly what prop styling
was until I came to New York and met a professional clothing stylist while
working at Charivari. Then it was like oh! Now I get it. Up to that point I
guess I sort of imagined Steven Meisel was busily building sets, then rushing
out to the shops in paint smeared Carharts and fur hat — with Anna, or Franca —
picking up clothes for the “girls.”
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| Rebecca Purcell Art director and Stylist |
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| Rebecca Purcell stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
I had recently published Interior Alchemy, this gave me the
gravitas to connect with an agent; I knew Anthroplogie had just started a catalog;
I knew their aesthetic was in keeping with my own career history and
inclinations; I was pretty hopeful in terms of thinking they might hire me… and
they did. This basically jump-started my career.
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| Rebecca Purcell Stylist, Photographer Martyn Thompson |
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| Rebecca Purcell Stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
Sure there are downsides like
having to get my own very expensive insurance, not knowing if dates and needs will
change last minute and disrupt all my plans, not knowing if I have enough
props, not knowing if I have what the client wants, not knowing if I will be
hired again, not knowing if there will be a proper bathroom… but on the whole a
pretty ideal career for some one inclined toward wandering.
Although I have had several
clients, I have worked as a stylist for Anthropologie longer, and more often,
than any other company. Always interested in what is new, they still maintain a
distinct connection to the Past-Present aesthetic. Anthropologie’s overall look
encompasses an extremely wide and varied range of styles and this means, as a
stylist, I get to explore many themes and have been sent down many diverse
roads. I have hooshed a bed in the surf at low tide, rowed props to a house on
stilts in a bay, and haggled a Jaipur, street vendor for his dirty plastic bucket and
stool.
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| Rebecca Purcell Stylist, Photographer Diego Uchitel |
I have been in mansions, derelict
schools, houses filled with dogs, houses filled with cats, flea markets in
Argentina, fortresses and palaces in India, and once I created an immense
medieval style banquet while rushing to finish before the setting sun, under a
canopy while it rained, on a lawn overlooking the mountains in Jamaica.
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| Rebecca Purcell/Abby Walton Stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
On the more peculiar end, I have taped
a scarf on a squealing pig (well… Abby Walton my fantastic assistant did, but I
had to watch and feel bad for her). Heather Greene and I had to figure out how
to make a fountain in 20 minutes, out of a t-pot, a hose, and cups and
saucers.
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| Rebecca Purcell/Heather Greene Stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
The best part of styling, for me,
is not the shopping, as some would suppose. What I love is the mercurial and
ephemeral qualities of creating a set — a moment — for a brief space of time
and then it disappears, like a mushroom emerging briefly from the loam.
I walk into an empty house or studio, and with the help of a slew of talented assistants who drag in, prep, and organize truck loads of equipment and stuff, some how a little space is created, an alchemical workshop. An image appears on the screen of a quiet, sunlit, cozy room or a table-top in mid preparation for an evenings dinner. Thirty seconds later it is saved by the digital tech for potentially well… ever. It’s simply well… magic.
I walk into an empty house or studio, and with the help of a slew of talented assistants who drag in, prep, and organize truck loads of equipment and stuff, some how a little space is created, an alchemical workshop. An image appears on the screen of a quiet, sunlit, cozy room or a table-top in mid preparation for an evenings dinner. Thirty seconds later it is saved by the digital tech for potentially well… ever. It’s simply well… magic.
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| Rebecca Purcell Stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
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| Rebecca Purcell Stylist, Photographer David Meredith |
Miss Havisham Amid 60’s Bohemia
Age 9
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| Rebecca Purcell Archive |
I have three sisters and one
brother; I am in the middle. We are all creative in uniquely different ways.
Debbie, the oldest, went to an archaic catholic school where the nuns still
locked you in the closet for transgressions towards God. In her teens she was a
modern dancer before her knees gave out, and through out her younger adult life
she was a talented painter, potter, crafter and intermittent follower of Rajneesh Bhagwan.
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| Rebecca Purcell Archive |
Owing to a tumultuous
relationship with our parents Debbie spent her last year at the house in a tiny
cramped room at the back of our unfinished, cinder-block basement. With sixties
bohemian flair, and youthful angst, she turned the barrack-like room into a
semi-cozy hippie den that smelled of sandalwood and mildew. She even managed to
install a television — this was something of a “big deal” as our mother
considered the TV nothing less than a “damage box” allowing me only one hour a
week of viewing; Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, Jacques Cousteau or
Masterpiece Theatre...
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| Photographer Simon Upton |
One afternoon my mother left me with Debbie… and the T.V. Little did I know I was about to look into a strange kind of mirror reflecting the ethos of my life.
Arranging my tiny frame
in the corner of Debbie’s bed, I settled in — I thought — for one of her long tirades
against parental authority and the “man.” My gaze continuously averted to the T.V. screen that was flipping through one commercial after the next, and then... David Lean’s Great Expectations came on.
While nervously listening for my
mother’s car, I spent the next hour engulfed in what I can only describe as a
kind of horrified bliss. Deathly afraid that I would get in trouble for
watching an unsanctioned program on the demon box, but even more afraid that I
would not be allowed to finish
watching.
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| Photographer Oberto Gigli |
The planets aligned and I was
miraculously able to see the entire movie. I was quite young so it is hard to
put into words the effect this film had on me — no doubt significantly
heightened by the fear of being caught.
Everything about the film was revelatory: the gentle, sincere, impoverished and abused boy whose life transforms through clothing and speech, the fascinating characters as well as the interiors where they lived and worked. I was immediately drawn into the cinematic, sweeping grey vistas and that house! Miss Havisham’s House, the overgrown gardens, the neglected and creaking gate; all that wealth and grandeur buried in dust. The explosion of release in that final scene when Pip wrenches the ancient decaying curtains from the windows, ripping away the old established order, ushering in a new more egalitarian era — I felt that I too had been shown the light.
Everything about the film was revelatory: the gentle, sincere, impoverished and abused boy whose life transforms through clothing and speech, the fascinating characters as well as the interiors where they lived and worked. I was immediately drawn into the cinematic, sweeping grey vistas and that house! Miss Havisham’s House, the overgrown gardens, the neglected and creaking gate; all that wealth and grandeur buried in dust. The explosion of release in that final scene when Pip wrenches the ancient decaying curtains from the windows, ripping away the old established order, ushering in a new more egalitarian era — I felt that I too had been shown the light.
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Fast-forward about thirty years
and Miss Havisham becomes a design mascot, a muse, a totemic matriarch of the
beauty of 19th century decay, her surname used as a relatively well
known descriptive term; Miss Havisham is now a look. It is highly unlikely others share the same experience as
above but it seems clear I was not the only one who was smitten by her static
excess.
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I see Miss Havisham as an
aesthetic of complexity, laced with nostalgia married with a character at once
eccentric and deeply melancholy and combined with a style well-suited for flea
market finds.
This is not to make light of her attributes, Miss Havisham represented (represents) grandeur in decline; a
perfect marriage of high and low, both aesthetically and conceptually. This was
an aesthetic I think we needed in the eighties environment where it first emerged, with it’s Reaganite
emphasis on winners and wealth wrapped in a glossy package, sporting excessive
shoulders, and promoting John Hughes movies with their suburban, pocket-sized,
digestible youth angst. The Havisham aesthetic, with its depiction of luxury
while simultaneously incorporating its decadence and decline, was reflecting both the status driven eighties ethos as well as the emergence of a more incorporative era rising, like a phoenix, from the
ashes of the old.
An era I innately felt would
welcome some one the likes of me.
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| Photographer Oberto Gigli |
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| Photographer Oberto Gigli |
Interior Alchemy
1995-1998
All images Gross and Daly
Interior Alchemy was published in 1998, and featured seven spaces
that uniquely brought the past into the present. I think the book was a little
before the curve on this aesthetic — it was another ten years before it
attracted any attention — but it was a satisfying experience and it helped jump-start
my career in styling, so nothing really to fuss over. I had several objectives
for the book: imbed an aspect of my art practice by featuring nine esoterically
defined interior styles; champion the idea that style was not dependant on
finances and “taste” in a classical sense; showcase some incredible spaces featuring
a Past-Present aesthetic; and highlight the word “hoosh.”
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I
managed all of this except for the art practice aspect, it was considered a bit
too esoteric by the publisher, although the idea of highly disparate styles
still came through.
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Another
objective was to work with Sue Gross and Steve Daly. Old Houses had recently been published and it was a book I found revelatory.
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I
had been working with Paulette Cole at A.B.C. for several years, exploring the
Past-Present realm of patina and weather but at the time Old Houses appeared, I had never seen an entire interiors book
devoted to the ravages of time, and the exquisite complex layering that only
neglect and weather can create.
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The
past revisited in the present has always been evident in home décor, but it was
the visual inclusion of its deconstruction
that was not only ground breaking but also psychologically left of field. One
just didn’t shoot an historical interiors book that featured homes that were a
mess, let alone falling apart with dirt, dust and debris gathered in the
corners! Old Houses was the first —
that I had seen anyway — to document this intersection of nature and a domestic
setting, a declining that was simultaneously emerging as something “other.”
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So
it was the brave and cutting edge duo of “Steve and Sue” I wanted to shoot the
images for my book as I planned on highlighting a few messes of my own. To my
utter joy and amazement they agreed.
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| Rebecca Purcell Archive, Photographer Gross and Daley |
I
am so grateful we had the opportunity to document the spaces in Interior Alchemy as most no longer
exist. The remarkable Tribeca loft of J. Morgan Puett and Mark Dion (Expedition
chapter) was dismantled shortly after publication, but not before they hosted a
private martini auction with only three bidders allowed: Mark, Bob Braine and
Alexis Rockman. As the guests became increasingly inebriated and vociferous,
the three participants parceled out a large collection of taxidermy birds… a
night to remember for the eccentric rarity of the event as well as a vodka
fueled battle over a stuffed puffin that almost turned violent – no doubt the
first battle of its kind.
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Jeffrey
Jenkins home (Simple) has been thoroughly overrun by his mounting collections (and
my increasing infiltration – I live with him).
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The
dense, oriental-gothic apartment (Exotic), of my brother and sister William
Bryan and Mary, has morphed several times since these images were taken and now
is a far more quiet, albeit toy-ridden home, to Mary and my niece Cira.
My
own apartment (Alienated) has turned into what I refer to as “Hotel de Lyon” — hybrid,
disheveled French via the American flea.
And the afternoon folly
Morgan and I created from a chicken coop for “Humble“ appropriately drifted
away with the wind and weather.
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