Arts & Lifestyle

DAVID KOCH: Some landlords are using negative gearing as a rort. That doesn’t mean we should chuck the whole system out.Source Link

The costume designer of “Sex and the City” and “The Devil Wears Prada,” now 83, still heeds her family’s advice.Source Link

In Brandon Ndife’s otherworldly domestic sculptures, on view in his New York show, nature shows its ungovernable power.Source Link

The Old Forge on the rugged peninsula of Knoydart is a community-owned meeting point for locals and visitors — at least those willing to trek across the wilderness.Source Link

The actor has been playing the snobby psychiatrist off and on since 1984 and has no plans to stop. He thinks the current “Frasier” reboot “could last another decade.”Source Link

A shock new listing has just gone up promising Aussies a slice of island paradise for the price of a car.Source Link

For almost 60 years, Zandra Rhodes has been one of Britain’s most flamboyant designers. She talks about her astonishing upbringing, being spurred into action by cancer and what she’s doing with her 6,000 dresses
When you visit Zandra Rhodes you don’t just walk into her flat, you’re invited into her psyche, stepping into the orange cubist block, crossing a sparkling terrazzo lobby and then rising up to a penthouse decorated in deep and dusty shades of pink. In her 83 years, Rhodes has become famous for how she plays with colour in ways that both confront and seduce – to stand here, in the rainbow room and golden afternoon light makes you feel energised, and a little high. She meets me in her living room in a puff-sleeved yellow dress, with her famous fuchsia bob (Pinkissimo by Crazy Color) and a large cup of tea. “Hello!” she calls, 4ft 11in in flower-painted trainers, “Hello, hello!”
It was here in this room, just before the pandemic hit, that her best friend, Andrew Logan, was guiding her in a yoga session when she lay back on her lilac mat and realised her stomach felt unusually full. She went to the doctor, who told her she had a 13cm growth, cancer of the bile duct, and gave her six months to live. She recalls the meeting now with a certain briskness. “It was Covid then, so I realised no one need know, and I decided not to tell anyone,” Why? “Because if people knew I wouldn’t get any more work!”
Continue reading...Source Link

Quiet cliff paths, vast sweeping beaches, cobbled high streets … and freedom. The writer and presenter finds the things she once wanted to escape from are now the island’s principle attractions
I wish someone had told me at the time that growing up in Guernsey was extraordinary. Not that I was receptive to that information – I was far too busy dreaming of what else the world could offer. The excitement and glamour of the mainland was too gripping to let me take stock of the privilege of plodding towards adulthood on a tiny island. I took for granted the freedom I had: the slow speed limit that almost guaranteed my safety; the low crime rate; the fact I was never more than 10 minutes away, no matter how much I tried to escape. Guernsey was my playground and yet I spent most of my days staring at the horizon yearning for the energy of the big city.
I was raised by Londoners who moved to the island to set up shop in the 70s. They were more than aware of the contrast to city living – yet I never knew any different. Dramatic cliffs and coast roads, vast sweeping beaches and “island hopping” on ferries was regular life. As soon as I was old enough to pass as 18, the island’s pubs were my stomping ground, of which the walls still hold many of my deepest secrets. As a teenager, I was always more of a town girl than a beach girl, spending most of my time pounding up and down the cobbled high street of the quaintly pretty St Peter Port that clung on to independent retailers and pushed crab sandwiches like America does fast food.
Continue reading...Source Link

The musician on painting, parenthood and the joys of lazing around
What time are you up? At 7.30am. We’ve trained our lovely nearly-three-year-old daughter to be cool about waiting until then. Honestly, I’m a morning person. Over breakfast I might try to sneak last night’s Match of the Day on. My daughter used to be into it, but she’s off TV now. She prefers fishing for paperclips with a magnet on a string.

Sundays growing up? Lots of activities: sports, mostly, then muddy baths. Or going to cubs at church. I’m not a religious person; I’ve a distinct memory of standing on the kitchen chair once yelling ‘I DON’T WANT TO GO’ at my dad. Now, I indulge in the laziness of the day.

Sunday jobs? I worked at Sainsbury’s in my teens to pay for guitar strings. I taught myself to whistle while being the trolley guy. I was lanky with long hair. A supervisor once came up to me during a shift to say a customer had complained about me: ‘That young woman needs to cheer up.’
A dream day to yourself? I want to say I’d be playing guitar and piano at home, be creative without expectation. Honestly, though, I’d shove the PlayStation on and play Fifa. Beers, maybe some music, too. Indulge in the things that take a back seat in the early years of parenthood.

Extracurriculars? I got back into skateboarding recently, after a 17-year hiatus. Being a 30-something has worked to my advantage. I’m up early with our daughter so I can steal an hour at the skatepark at 10am when it’s totally empty. I’ve got all sorts of bumps and bruises.

Sunday night? Once the kid’s asleep I’ve got a few hours to be creative. I watch documentaries and listen to music. I’ve recently started painting again, too. Before bed my head needs tiring out.
Continue reading...Source Link

A small ad offering just about anything resulted in some strange proposals
What would you do for £5,000? The Observer put itself to the test on 29 January 1995 by placing a small ad in Private Eye, ‘posing as a friendly if somewhat feckless and impecunious postgraduate in need of some quick cash’ – anything considered.
The advert drew two proposals. ‘I don’t want to discuss it on the telephone,’ the first respondent said, before claiming: ‘It’s not illegal.’ He put the author in touch with an associate, Juliet, who ‘immediately asked me if I realised “it” was a bit dodgy.’ It was, though, she said, fun and the fringe benefits were very good. ‘It just had to be pornography.’ It was stranger than that: a scam involving travelling the country visiting electrical retailers and requesting, under false pretences, a Sky satellite box coded card to access paid-for channels (they were then sent abroad to be sold at a profit).
Continue reading...Source Link