Their items are exceedingly simple, nearly pure geometric forms.
One wrong move and they break. One single item on a shelf that's too heavy and the whole shelf collapses. Doesn't matter, all the books are spray-painted white. They're actually cigar boxes that contain things of all the same near-color. One misbehaving pet and the whole thing is torn up. There is nothing one passes to the next generation. It's all evanescent, intended for living this moment.
The closets are filled with with monochrome items hung in a row and evenly spaced, worn by robots. Everything is always perfectly aligned. People are dressed in dull monochrome like the plain models in Liberty Insurance commercials where your impulse is punch the designer for insisting on being so boring.
Photographic creativity is minimized. The item, only the item, let noting distract. The most extreme divergence from this law is a black and white polka dot rug is photographed with a Dalmatian.
Polka dot rug, polka dot dog. Get it? It's urban camouflage with none of the mess of graffitti.
The models are people who work there or relatives. Hard plain no-make up wearing Teutonic females. Dudes off the street. Dame Edna Jewish grandmother.
Their catalog is depressing. One's human heart sinks as one flips through it.
The items on each self, the objets d'art, are all spay-painted the same color to arrange their classic forms, then erase them. Nobody does that.
Except this one restaurant on Cap Cod. A small place made from an old residence. They put old fashion kitchen implements all over the walls that were painted the same color as the wall so their forms are defined by their shadows. One trip to a flea market would cover the expense. It is not the personal collection through time as suggested. Egg beater, cheese graters, wooden spoons, spatulas, hand mixers, blender attachments, knives, timers, meat pounders, forks, all the same color of the walls, a textured wall of mild interest. But nobody lives like that. It's IKEA-world.
The only actual color allowed, the only individuality that's accepted is with actual humans, and they choose the most ordinary of weirdos to populate their world in strained imitation of life. Children playing but not having fun, a woman folding bed linnen she's unhappy to own, somebody's crazy-ass grandmother to suggest the bare place is actually livable.
They try too hard to be other-worldy, to be too simple, too pure, and suggest it's all for normal living while its strained artificiality and its bareness stripped to essentials is hopelessly non-human, their catalog shows imitation of life; life as concept, not actual living. Their created thought-space is unlivable. Undesirable.
Air Force jets just now flew close-by overhead. In series. What dramatic intrusion! Now that's living. It stirs one's imagination. IKEA catalog doesn't. I gave up flipping through it 1/4 of the way. Tossed it away disgusted with the people behind it. I actually resent them sending it. It's not a cheap catalog. They put a lot of thought into being supremely simple. And annoyingly fake. No. I don't want anything from you. Not one single thing. Not even an idea.
And I'd never visit their store willingly. I don't know why people do. Why they lined up is beyond my ken. I'm not interested in a compulsory guided tour. And I don't know why anyone is. Apparently they fancy themselves Disneyland. Stripped to essential of essence of quintessence of bare existence, of barely existing. They prefer us to barely exist. And their catalog shows us how to almost live in their almost world of near-existence.
I was in an IKEA once when I wasn't feeling well. I occasionally enjoy shopping, but that day I went to a 'kid's room' and sat on the bottom bunk till my party was ready to go.
Back in the 1980s I bought a chair at Ikea. It was nice, it was substantial, it lasted for years. I can't say the same for the bookcases I bought there - particle board is just not a suitable material for a book shelf. I ended up building other shelves using decent thick, American boards and a bit of traditional engineering.
Did you know that IKEA is the world's largest consumer of wood? That company eats more trees than any other. Nom nom nom - in go the trees, out pops the particle board future landfill-clogging bad word.
But we have no IKEA around here, so I can't even ignore them, nor do I get their catalog. If I did I would use it to start fires in which I burn my scrap. My hope is that the smoke I put into the air here will fall as acid rain in Sweden. It's good to have goals.
Whew! I'm glad ricpic did not comprehend and said so I was lost, and the explanation was worth having. No IKEA for me either. I don't like being manipulated in that fashion. I would rather scrounge.
10 comments:
Trying to figure out who the last one is, Patty Murray or, uh, someone else.
Yo no comprendo.
A secretary.
I have a hunch you were going for hutch on that last one.
Oh, screw, it would have taken me several weeks, if ever, to get that.
Okay.
I'll explain it.
Their items are exceedingly simple, nearly pure geometric forms.
One wrong move and they break. One single item on a shelf that's too heavy and the whole shelf collapses. Doesn't matter, all the books are spray-painted white. They're actually cigar boxes that contain things of all the same near-color. One misbehaving pet and the whole thing is torn up. There is nothing one passes to the next generation. It's all evanescent, intended for living this moment.
The closets are filled with with monochrome items hung in a row and evenly spaced, worn by robots. Everything is always perfectly aligned. People are dressed in dull monochrome like the plain models in Liberty Insurance commercials where your impulse is punch the designer for insisting on being so boring.
Photographic creativity is minimized. The item, only the item, let noting distract. The most extreme divergence from this law is a black and white polka dot rug is photographed with a Dalmatian.
Polka dot rug, polka dot dog. Get it? It's urban camouflage with none of the mess of graffitti.
The models are people who work there or relatives. Hard plain no-make up wearing Teutonic females. Dudes off the street. Dame Edna Jewish grandmother.
Their catalog is depressing. One's human heart sinks as one flips through it.
The items on each self, the objets d'art, are all spay-painted the same color to arrange their classic forms, then erase them. Nobody does that.
Except this one restaurant on Cap Cod. A small place made from an old residence. They put old fashion kitchen implements all over the walls that were painted the same color as the wall so their forms are defined by their shadows. One trip to a flea market would cover the expense. It is not the personal collection through time as suggested. Egg beater, cheese graters, wooden spoons, spatulas, hand mixers, blender attachments, knives, timers, meat pounders, forks, all the same color of the walls, a textured wall of mild interest. But nobody lives like that. It's IKEA-world.
The only actual color allowed, the only individuality that's accepted is with actual humans, and they choose the most ordinary of weirdos to populate their world in strained imitation of life. Children playing but not having fun, a woman folding bed linnen she's unhappy to own, somebody's crazy-ass grandmother to suggest the bare place is actually livable.
They try too hard to be other-worldy, to be too simple, too pure, and suggest it's all for normal living while its strained artificiality and its bareness stripped to essentials is hopelessly non-human, their catalog shows imitation of life; life as concept, not actual living. Their created thought-space is unlivable. Undesirable.
Air Force jets just now flew close-by overhead. In series. What dramatic intrusion! Now that's living. It stirs one's imagination. IKEA catalog doesn't. I gave up flipping through it 1/4 of the way. Tossed it away disgusted with the people behind it. I actually resent them sending it. It's not a cheap catalog. They put a lot of thought into being supremely simple. And annoyingly fake. No. I don't want anything from you. Not one single thing. Not even an idea.
And I'd never visit their store willingly. I don't know why people do. Why they lined up is beyond my ken. I'm not interested in a compulsory guided tour. And I don't know why anyone is. Apparently they fancy themselves Disneyland. Stripped to essential of essence of quintessence of bare existence, of barely existing. They prefer us to barely exist. And their catalog shows us how to almost live in their almost world of near-existence.
I was in an IKEA once when I wasn't feeling well. I occasionally enjoy shopping, but that day I went to a 'kid's room' and sat on the bottom bunk till my party was ready to go.
Their catalog is depressing. One's human heart sinks as one flips through it.
Yes.
It's best to simply toss into recycle bin and not even open it.
My friend M went in there and after a few turns around the maze she looked at her daughter and said "get me out of here, now."
Back in the 1980s I bought a chair at Ikea. It was nice, it was substantial, it lasted for years. I can't say the same for the bookcases I bought there - particle board is just not a suitable material for a book shelf. I ended up building other shelves using decent thick, American boards and a bit of traditional engineering.
Did you know that IKEA is the world's largest consumer of wood? That company eats more trees than any other. Nom nom nom - in go the trees, out pops the particle board future landfill-clogging bad word.
But we have no IKEA around here, so I can't even ignore them, nor do I get their catalog. If I did I would use it to start fires in which I burn my scrap. My hope is that the smoke I put into the air here will fall as acid rain in Sweden. It's good to have goals.
Whew! I'm glad ricpic did not comprehend and said so I was lost, and the explanation was worth having. No IKEA for me either. I don't like being manipulated in that fashion. I would rather scrounge.
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