KunstRAI

The annual modern and contemporary art fair held at Amsterdam’s RAI Exhibition and Convention Centre – KunstRAI – kicked off earlier this week. One year shy of celebrating its 30th anniversary, KunstRAI showcases the art of 75 galleries, one third of which are international. But it’s a good place to pick up some local works too such as the dramatic abstract paintings of Project 2.0 Gallery’s Robbert Fortgens. Shrewd buyers can also suss out the upcoming crop of new art talent, as KunstRAI includes eight new galleries as part of the RawEdges area picked by Bob Smith, organiser of neighbouring Rotterdam’s Raw Art Fair.

Europaplein 2-22, 1078 GZ. Open Wednesday 18.00-22.00, Thursday to Saturday 13.00-21.00, Sunday to Monday 11.00-18.00. Until 20 May.
kunstrai.com

DESIGN: TOKYO

California Design, 1930-1965: “Living in a Modern Way”

Tokyo’s National Art Center is presenting a comprehensive study of design from the West Coast of the US. Featuring over 250 pieces from fields as diverse as furniture, fashion, and both graphic and industrial design, the exhibition in collaboration with with LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art), includes original works by designers Charles and Ray Eames and architect R. M. Schindler. It aims to show how California – which from the 1930s became a hot spot synonymous with “the good life” – was key to shaping a new generation of materialism and consumerist culture in the US.

The National Art Center, Tokyo, Special Exhibition Gallery 1E, 7-22-2 Roppongi, Minato-ku, Tokyo, Japan. Open daily 10.00-18.00 (10.00-20.00 on Fridays). Closed on Tuesdays. Until 3 June.
nact.jp/english

EXHIBITION: LONDON

Birth of a Collection: The Barber Institute of Fine Art and the National Gallery

To celebrate the 80th anniversary of The Barber Institute of Fine Art in Birmingham, London's National Gallery will this weekend unveil an intimate selection of the gallery's most prized stock. The twelve paintings on show are the very first collected by Thomas Bodkin, the institute’s first director (1887-1961) and include works by masters such as JMW Turner, Édouard Manet and Claude Monet. It’s part of a year-long celebration of the institute’s ongoing commitment to sharing art with the public.

National Gallery, Trafalgar Square. Open daily 10.00-18.00, Fridays 10.00-21.00. Until 1 September.
nationalgallery.org.uk

PHOTOGRAPHY: HONG KONG

New Framework: Chinese Avant-garde Photography 1980s-90s

The photographic contributions of twelve contemporary Chinese artists are on display starting this weekend at Blindspot Gallery’s two venues in Hong Kong. Until the end of the Cultural Revolution in the 1970s, photography in China was limited to family portraits and official media – also known as political propaganda. From the 1980s onwards, the artists featured in New Framework such as Ai Weiwei, Gu Zheng and Han Lei paved the way for conceptual and experimental styles that broke free from institutionalised ideas.

Blindspot Gallery, 24-26A, Aberdeen Street, Central. Open Tuesday to Saturday 11.00 – 19.00. Blindspot Annex, 15/F, Po Chai Industrial Building, 28 Wong Chuk Hang Road, Wong Chuk Hang. Open Wednesday to Saturday, 11.00-19.00. Until 22 June.
blindspotgallery.com

MUSIC: GLOBAL

Bibio: Silver Wilkinson

Stephen Wilkinson – aka Bibio – a Birmingham UK-based crafter of beautifully delicate, folky stylings around droney beats, makes the kind of music that can only grow from honing pleasing sounds over and over. Having begun making music in the mid-2000s turning out more experimental work, Bibio’s gift for melody now appears to be flourishing and the summery yet down-tempo songs on Silver Wilkinson veer very close to straight-up pop. A genuinely gifted producer who plays with textures while whittling out naggingly memorable tunes, it feels like now – and more specifically the summer – is Bibio’s time to shine.

Silver Wilkinson is available to buy now.
warp.net

As interiors go it was fairly unremarkable if spot on for what it needed to be. Whitewashed wood walls, soaped oak floorboards, wood chairs, pastel gingham tablecloths, a marble bar and some old wooden fish crates and seaside paraphernalia dotted around. But it was bright. Dimmable filament bulbs hung from the ceiling and rather than flickering with a barely there glow, they were properly on and up. And it worked perfectly. Outside it was bucketing with a typical London spring downpour; inside it felt like a different world. Light made us happy. It was so unusual and uplifting not to be huddled in an atmospheric, shadowy fug. It was so nice to see properly what we were eating and who with.

I’ve always been intrigued that architects and designers credit light as the most important thing to “get right” in delivering their work. It’s controlling what’s visible and what’s not, be that the corner of a room or the wrinkles on a face. Light brings space to life.

We’ve all struggled with the migration from bad but charming incandescent lighting to cold but efficient LED. Light-emitting diodes are complex, arcane beasts that hardly anyone understands and those who do can’t really explain. At the biennial Euroluce lighting fair, which ran concurrently in Milan this year alongside Salone del Mobile, it finally felt like designers and manufacturers may have wrestled this beast into submission. The four hangar-sized halls of the lighting fair used to sizzle with incandescent heat; sweaty deals were literally done under spotlights. This year, thanks to LED, the halls were positively chilly. And the lights on display were things of beauty: elegant, old-fashioned, dimmable and, crucially, covetable.

Until now I’ve been a sheep in the herd that believed bright light to be bad: disarming, draining, deadening – the stuff of supermarkets and dental surgeries. Dark spaces by contrast are naughty and secretive. Or so I thought. But I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Things get thieved in low-lit bars and restaurants. Eyes get strained, people mumble and feel lethargic. It’s hard work. I’m not advocating blanket strip lighting but let’s turn the dimmers up a bit and step into a brighter era where we can see who and what’s in front of us.

Hugo Macdonald is Monocle’s design editor.

There is an extraordinary blend of apparently conflicting factors that permeates almost every aspect of Indian culture, politics, finance and society. These contrasts are often profound and invariably poignant, be they between rich and poor, original and derivative, vibrant and mundane, illuminating and obfuscating. But the cultural collision that I found the most compelling was – still - between the colonial legacy and the impact of independence, both of state and of economy. Every step on my journey seemed to serve up a tantalising take on this point of friction as delicious to the hungry cultural observer as any tandoor-cooked kingfish.

In my view, no single spectacle offers a better demonstration of this than cricket. Pregnant with historical significance and symbolic complexity because of its empire-era roots, the sport is deeply woven into the fabric of contemporary India. And the nation has shed much of the burden that was attendant in its embrace of the game by ploughing unprecedented resources, passion and intensity into its own world-leading cricket format. The glitzy, glamorous (some traditionalists say nouveau riche and crass) Indian Premier League: the IPL.

Only Bollywood comes close to rivalling the IPL in terms of media coverage, public obsession and appeal to advertisers. There appears to be a limitless demand for TV, radio and print detailing every facet of these cricketing heroes’ lives. But that is not to say there isn’t a refreshing good humour and lightness of touch about the Indian media’s approach to this sport. There are some wonderfully irreverent yet informative broadcasters who cover the annual IPL jamboree, bringing ever more lurid colour to an already vibrant sporting spectacle.

And what an atmosphere! What fireworks (literally and metaphorically) in the Wankhede stadium, packed out and rocking as the local heroes (in Sachin Tendulkar’s case, local deity) saw off their table-topping rivals from Chennai. This was a sight, sound and sensation so impressive I can even forgive the hours queuing up alongside, around and over the railway lines to secure entry to the ground.

The beautiful Oval Maidan in the heart of the city is hallowed turf of a slightly different kind. This historic playing area was a recipient of the freshly buoyant city’s largesse back in the 1990s, restoring to a subdued part of the city a little of the old-world heritage that the British deposited in typically unsubtle fashion back in the 19th century. Strolling around this beautiful oval today it is striking how indelible the impact of the game is, the latest generation dreaming of the big time are still plying their trade on these dusty and uneven proving grounds.

Contrasts at every step but an undoubted sense of a place increasingly at ease with itself despite the troubling disparity between the haves and the have-nots. At least there is no doubt about one great unifying force in Mumbai: its cricket team. The Mumbai Indians carry the hopes of the city with them in the IPL. And they certainly have another convert watching on keenly from here in London.

Tom Edwards is Monocle 24’s news editor.

The year is 1927 and the man behind the camera is the English cinematographer Claude Friese-Greene who made a series of films as he travelled the length of the British Isles. The films are good but what changes everything is when you know they are all in colour.

This film about London is not a new discovery, people have known about it for years and some time ago the British Film Institute released a computer-enhanced version. Hell, there’s even been a TV show about the man and his movies and his Friese-Greene Natural Colour process (this was a complicated way to turn black-and-white imagery to colour by using filters and dyes).

But over the past few weeks this view to the past has gone viral with some half a million views on YouTube alone. Yet even that isn’t really the fascinating nub. The real intrigue here is the "why". Why does a film from 1927 of a city covered in soot, with barges packing out the Thames, and of a young girl feeding sparrows in a park, grab the attention of said YouTube generation?

It’s all down to the colour.

As we imagine the photographic past and travel back through time in our minds, normally the colour slowly drains away. After the flowerbed colours of 1950s Technicolor you fall into the black and whites of the 1940s and 1930s with the odd, quirky exception. Didn’t I see a picture of Hitler in colour once? And by the 1920s we see people as grey.

And their demeanour changes too. People become more static, posed. That’s why Claude Friese-Greene’s film trips you up. It’s a cliché that for once rings true: the pictures bring the past alive. The men glancing up at the lens, at you, are just there, breathing, you can almost reach out and touch their shoulders.

And in moving colour you start noticing small details: how come so many of the sleek women in cloche hats have walks ready for a catwalk? Did people just walk better then? What happened to all those caps and trilbies? Did no man leave home without covering his head? And see how London was covered in grime; Nelson’s Column looks like a factory chimney it’s so soot soaked.

But it’s the people that pull you in – the woman slightly tired heading over London Bridge, the soldier in full uniform mixing with the throng. I wonder, if like me, the colour somehow allows those half a million viewers to travel back in time and narrow the gap with a place which, mistakenly, we had thought was a long way off. This is a film that brings back the dead, pumps smoke once again through chimney pots and adds balletic traffic chaos to the unmarked city streets. You should have a look.

Andrew Tuck is editor of Monocle.

On a spring afternoon in 1911 a fire started in a cotton-scraps bin at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York. Soon the building on the corner of Green Street and Washington place was ablaze. With many of the doors locked to prevent pilfering, garment workers jumped from the ninth floor; 146 died in total.

“We have not forgotten Triangle,” a young sportswear entrepreneur tells me in his office in Los Angeles’ industrial Vernon district. “It has shaped labour relations ever since. It shaped the way we work.”

Triangle was a watershed event in US labour history. In its wake powerful unions were formed. A factory investigating commission was instated to impose safety measures. Wages were negotiated. Rights were observed. Yet progress is not at all that simple. As globalisation took hold many jobs and contracts vanished as corporations tracked east in search of lower margins.

The Triangle Shirtwaist disaster is in the minds of Americans because of another very similar event that occurred in Bangladesh – with, tragically, an even higher death toll. It’s now confirmed that the collapse of the nine-storey Rana Plaza factory in Dhaka claimed over one thousand lives. Like the Triangle disaster, there has been international outcry following the events. Pope Francis has spoken out. The Bangladeshi government has announced measures very similar to the ones seen after the shirtwaist fire in New York. They will allow unions to be formed more easily, safety checks will be made and prosecutions will be carried through.

This is not simply a domestic issue. The US and many other developed countries must treat this event as its own. Like the Triangle Shirtwaist fire, it must trigger an overhaul of how things are made and where. The onus is on the consumers, the corporations and governments around the world to impose the standards to protect every worker in their supply chain.

In 2011, hundreds of New Yorkers took to the streets to remember the Triangle workers. They held banners made from shirts and waved them in their honour. There is a clear solidarity in the garment industry – as I found in LA.

The workers of Rana Plaza factory deserve the same respect and the same rights as their modern western counterparts. They should inherit the progress made and the lessons learned from the past.

Sophie Grove is Monocle's senior editor

But before it’s back to the red country, I have a stop-off in Tokyo. I mentioned this to a colleague who lived there for years and he said that my seven-day itinerary might not be enough. In fact, he was of the opinion that I should significantly extend my stay: he suggested I move there.

According to my colleague, Japan is just around the corner from returning to its former economic glory. After almost two decades of stagnation, the IMF recently boosted Japan’s projected growth to 1.6 per cent. As deputy PM Taro Aso put it, Abenomics has fired a monetary bazooka at deflation.

It’s good news for visiting foreigners like me - on Friday the yen hit a four-year low against the dollar, meaning I can get more bento for my buck. But as to whether the trickle-down effect will work as planned - well, Toyota has just published an increased profit of $1.5bn (€1.16bn). But I suppose the next few years will reveal the lasting effects.

Economics aside, Japan seem as strong as ever when it comes to breeding world-class tech innovators. In the June issue of Monocle we’ve written about a Tokyo start-up that is developing an electric-run tricycle to replace tuk-tuks in Manila. Pretty impressive stuff, but since I don’t really trust myself with a soldering iron, I wonder if I’d fit in.

Then again, the Japanese economy isn’t all microchips and supercomputers. The profile of Japanese artists like Yayoi Kusama and Takashi Murakami has never been higher. Plus, the work of Haruki Murakami is one of the world’s great literary exports. Sprinkle on that Japan’s legendary work ethic and it seems the country is primed for results in most fields.

You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m tempted. Perhaps I should say sayonara to my plans in Melbourne and breathe konichiwa to a future in downtown Tokyo. But then again, do they sell pies in Japan?

Adrian Craddock is an associate producer on M24.

This weekend pick out a literary classic in Buenos Aires, take a cinematic trip to Greenland, and enjoy the new album from Atlanta band Deerhunter.

PHOTOGRAPHY: LONDON

2013 Sony World Photography Awards

This weekend in London is your last chance to see the works of the winners of the Sony World Photography Awards at Somerset House. Whittled down from 122,000 entries from 170 countries, the 700 photographs range from current affairs to fashion, travel and wildlife. The exhibition also honours US shutterbug William Eggleston for his outstanding contribution to the field over the past four decades. Stocked with 20 of his works, the show focuses on Eggleston’s use of colour photography to promote the medium as an art in its own right.

Somerset House, The Strand. Open Saturday and Sunday 10.00-19.00. Until 12 May.
worldphoto.org

DVD: GLOBAL

Village at the End of the World

British filmmaker Sarah Gavron focuses on the village of Niaqornat in the far northwest of Greenland in this understated and touching tale of a community in decay. Reached only by ship or helicopter (weather permitting) the village has a population of 59. Gavron captures the inhabitants’ worries, frustration in individuals such as Karl, the experienced hunter and de facto leader, whose craft and commitment contrasts with Lars, the teenager who thinks of nothing but leaving. Gavron’s film is as engaging as it is informative and although featuring one of the remotest locations on earth, it tells familiar stories that hit much closer to home.

Village at the End of the World is available to buy now.
villageattheendoftheworld.com

BOOK FAIR: BUENOS AIRES

Libros Como Puentes

Catch the closing weekend of Libros Como Puentes – a three-week literary festival organised by the Argentine Society of Writers the nation’s capital. The Spanish speaking world’s largest book fair, its event space covers 45,000 sq metres with 400-plus exhibits, lectures, author signings and conferences. For the first time Libros Como Puentes has invited a foreign city – Amsterdam – as a guest to bring its own selection to the festival. Other writers, essayists and authors appearing include Isabel Allende, Wilbur Smith, Carlos Fuentes, and Mario Vargas Llosa.

Buenos Aires Argentine Rural Society, Santa Fe 4201. Open Saturday 13.00-22.00 and Sunday 13.00-21.00. Until 13 May.
el-libro.org.ar

FESTIVAL: MEXICO CITY

Fmx - Festival de México

The 29th edition of Mexico City’s main festival kicked off on Thursday with visual arts performances, exhibits and productions held in venues throughout the city’s historic centre such as the Palace of Fine Arts and the Metropolitan Cathedral. Started in the 1980s, today’s festival has grown to include international attractions ranging from British chamber music specialists the Heath Quartet to Finnish experimental electronic artist Mika Vainio, as well as screenings of Japanese animation. On Saturday don’t miss choreographer Miguel Moreira’s poignant ballet The Old King performed by Belgian theatre collective Les Ballets C de la B.

At locations across the city, see website for details. Until 19 May.
festival.org.mx

MUSIC: GLOBAL

Deerhunter: Monomania

One of Atlanta’s less showy musical success stories of recent years has been guitar-driven melodic misfits Deerhunter. The five-piece led by enigmatic singer Bradford Cox, return this week with new album Monomania – their sixth since emerging from the city’s garage rock scene in the early 2000s, that also birthed Atlanta favourites the Black Lips. On Monomania, Deerhunter return to the slightly scratchier, rough and ready sound of their early recordings after the slicker studio experiments of 2010’s Halycon Digest and Cox’s solo work as Atlas Sound. It’s an effortless, often lackadaisical collection teetering somewhere between a classic and catastrophe.

Monomania is available to buy now.
4ad.com/artists/deerhunter‎

My passport states that I’m an Australian yet there’s not much of an Antipodean cadence to my accent. With a Malay mother and an Aussie father, I’m a bit of an ethnic mongrel to look at so even that doesn’t help. Throw in an Islamic first name and the fact that the US was the last place I called home, and I find most people who ask that question quickly give up trying to place me.

In Hong Kong, my story is a common one. Having only known a handful of Eurasians in London or New York, there’s absolutely nothing special about being a hybrid offspring of Asia Pacific in this city. I’ve had to stop myself from getting exotic heritage envy when meeting people with such fantastic backgrounds as Thai and Italian or Burmese and Brazilian.

With hoards of post-colonial Brits, Aussies and a surprisingly large number of French, this is a real melting pot of a place. But here, more than anywhere, I’ve noticed the difference between those who want to camouflage themselves into Hong Kong and those who seem to vehemently hold onto ties from home.

While some expats may complain about the cost of living in this city, they’ll laugh if you suggest eating in the more affordable (and delicious) local restaurants. Indeed, entire districts exist where those originally from London or Paris or Sydney can feel like they’re right back at home. From Australian steakhouses that look more suited to airport terminals to faux-English pubs and French bistros, it seems many who move here are happy to reap the benefits of working in a buoyant Asian economy but not so eager to partake in the culture that drives that economy forward.

I understand that home comforts are something to be treasured – I’ve had a bag of PG Tips sent over and I’m still searching for some good Mexican hot sauce to recreate the tacos I miss from the US (any suggestions are welcome). But it’s things like dai pai dong lunches with colleagues, late night karaoke sessions with local bartenders and broken conversations with an old man who makes congee in my neighbourhood that really make Hong Kong feel like home.

A strong sense of origin can be grounding for people but in global cities such as this, I think I’m going to champion being a bit less concerned with where it is you’ve come from.

Aisha Speirs is Hong Kong bureaux chief for Monocle.

Nobody I spoke with gave more than a passing thought to the recent surge in Pyongyang’s sabre-rattling. And nobody thought it was a good idea to open the border with North Korea and attempt social and economic reintegration.

The answers suggest that South Korea’s younger generation is an apathetic bunch. How can they just shrug about the possibility of a nuclear-armed rogue on their doorstep? And why wouldn't they want to help out their brethren in the North?

A 31-year-old man who made my morning espresso at a tiny coffee shop in Seoul’s Hongdae neighbourhood summed it up. Yes, the threats are common, but when you've heard them as often as South Koreans have, the threats lose their sting. “It's like dealing with a child,” he said, dismissively.

And while North and South Koreans share bloodlines, language and tradition, the differences stand out more. During more than six decades of separation, the two countries have taken divergent paths. Authoritarian rule in the North, democracy in the South. A poor, closed, centrally controlled economy in the North, a globalised market economy in the South. Military propaganda music in the North, K-pop tunes in the South. They have grown apart like estranged siblings and it would require too much work – not to mention billions of dollars in aid and investments – to make up for lost time. “We are just too different, culturally,” said the barista.

This presents a dilemma for policymakers in Seoul. Peaceful unification of the peninsula has been a goal of South Korean leaders since the constitution was drawn up in 1948. President Park Geun-hye said yesterday in Washington during a joint session of the US Congress that she hopes her “trustpolitik” policy would lead to peace on the peninsula and eventual reunification.

With his recent test explosion of a nuclear device, missile launches and withdrawal of North Korean workers from the Kaesong Industrial complex – a symbol of North-South economic cooperation – North Korean leader Kim Jong-un hasn’t made unification seem too likely. A South Korean Ministry of Unification official I met on Tuesday acknowledged that North-South integration is, at this point, a tough idea to sell, especially to his country’s younger generation.

But maybe that’s beside the point. Talk of eventual unification has been a way for South Korea to maintain a dialogue, an open channel of communication, with the reclusive North. South Korean president Park’s father, Park Chung-hee, who ruled South Korea heavy-handedly from 1961 until he was shot dead by his intelligence chief in 1979, once said, “As long as you can touch an opponent with at least one hand, you can tell whether he will attack.” Maybe that’s why young South Koreans should support unification: not because of what it might do in the future but because of the doomsday scenario that it now helps to prevent from happening.

Kenji Hall is Asia editor-at-large for Monocle.

Any tenuous metaphor about maintaining the mask of youth would be lacking without the band/brand of the moment – Daft Punk. French electronic duo Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter have maintained a steely air of mystery since donning sleek sci-fi headgear around the turn of the century (before this they wore a selection of seemingly unrelated and unfetching masks). With the warm disco embrace of recent single “Get Lucky”, Daft Punk are everywhere this year but it feels like these loveable robots have been around forever. They are not of our time – both classic and futuristic – your dad thinks they were in Star Wars, yet they’ll never grow old.

Less likely to end up on dad’s discman is notoriously elusive ambient duo Boards of Canada. The much-lauded Scots – like Daft Punk – rarely show their faces or give interviews. But their recent marketing campaign was fiendishly absurd and indirect, involving a 36-digit code made up of hidden messages discovered in disparate and obscure locations ranging from unannounced Record Store Day vinyls to brief adverts on the Cartoon Network. The hunt to find out what it all meant (new album, surprise!) was more characteristic of an elaborate advertising scheme than anything to do with music. But it was clever, it involved people, and made me write things in a magazine.

Of course, you could just opt for the Bowie route. He’s not a band, I grant you, but he’s not quite a person either. Brand Bowie has been a masterstroke of shape-shifting unknowability for over 40 years and his recent tactic of just doing nothing for a really long time before surprising everyone by saying “I’m still here”, is probably the most poker-faced move of the lot. He stayed so still we all thought he was a logo.

For a music fan, to even discuss bands as brands is a little painful – a little soulless – the songs should speak for themselves. But it’s important to remember there’s far more mysterious and interesting ways to make an impact today than the shock value of three or four “dudes” in matching leathers coming to steal the womenfolk in a town near you. Although your dad would probably totally dig that, too.

Tom Hall is a contributor for Monocle.